


Ours

by a_windsor



Series: Delivered [2]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_windsor/pseuds/a_windsor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helena allows herself to want. Sequel to Delivered</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And here is the sequel to Delivered. I’m blown away by the response to the first story in the ‘verse, so I’m anxious to see what everyone thinks of this. Thanks to cacheese who always talks through my crazy with me.

 

***

 

"You are very spoiled," Helena tells three-and-a-half-year-old Max as he takes another leap, swinging happily between his aunts, little hands clinging tightly. 

"Yes," Max says, distractedly agreeing with whatever his HG is saying. 

He lands with a thump as his shoes hit the airport floor, the bright red lights imbedded in the sole putting on a show. 

"Do you gots to go?" Max asks, turning his dark eyes up at them, looking from one to the other. 

Myka sighs softly and squats down to his level. 

"Yeah, buddy, and so do you! We're going to go visit my nieces 'cause one was just born. And you're gonna go see your aunt, and that is super exciting." 

Max nods, reaching out to take a handful of the collar of Myka's jacket. 

"It'll just be a few days. Daddy will be with you the whole time." Max does smile a little at that. "And you have Pooh, right?" 

"Let us check," Helena says, unzipping his Superman backpack and confirming Pooh's presence. "Good. He is right there on top. Now." She holds her arms out invitingly, and Max happily allows himself to be lifted. "Shall we go get you a snack for the plane, then?" 

"Yes, p'ease." 

"Hmm, I wonder why he is spoiled," Myka teases as Helena settles Max on her hip. 

Max is happily oblivious to the comment, clinging to Helena's neck and looking to his aunt:

"Gotta get a snack, Aunt Mykes."

"Yes, of course, lead the way," Myka laughs. 

At the newsstand, Max tries to out-cute his way into some candy for the plane ride, but even his spoiling HG draws the line at that, as tempted as she is to turn him over to his father properly sugared up. 

The check out girl smiles at them as they pay for the Goldfish crackers they settled on after a long negotiation. 

"He's so cute," she gushes. She turns her attention to Max. "Are you going to be good for your moms on the plane?"

It is a common mistake and they usually just let it go these days, although Helena took some adjusting to the fact that in some parts of the country now, a child out with two women was assumed to belong to those women. ("Only because you two are _such_ a couple," Pete once teased.) 

"Aunts," Max surprisingly corrects, nonchalantly reaching for his crackers. Aunt Myka wins that battle, though, snatching them up and tucking them into the outside pocket of his backpack. "Riding a plane with my daddy." 

"Oh! Well have a good trip."

"You, too!" Max smiles winningly, waving over Helena's shoulder as they leave.

Myka shakes her head. The toddler is often just as much of a flirt as his father. She checks her watch. 

"Okay, buddy, time to get you to Daddy so everyone can get on their plane. Want a piggy back ride?"

"Yes, p'ease!" 

 

***

So far, the trip to Colorado Springs has gone very well. The presence of a newborn tends to wear down the edges on all of the awkward interactions that usually plague Bering family events, and Myka’s father even made quite polite small talk with Helena about Romantic era poets at their lunch earlier in the day.

Myka currently has said calming newborn, her younger niece, Chloe, cradled in her arms, while her older niece, Olivia, tries to scramble into Helena’s lap. 

Olivia finds her aunt’s partner endlessly fascinating. Olivia also looks incredibly like Myka, all riotous curls and inquisitive stare.

“Hi,” the three-year-old grins, once she reaches her target and balances herself on Helena’s legs.

“Hello.”

Helena looks over to Myka, who is engrossed in her conversation with Tracy, and then back down to mini-Myka.

“Are you enjoying your new sister?”

Olivia shrugs and snuggles closer to Helena’s chest.

“Yes, well, when they are that small, they are rather boring.”

“Mhmm.”

“I never had a younger sibling. I had a big brother. They’re a bit of a pain. I imagine a sister will be fun.”

Olivia nods. She is feeling quiet, cuddly tonight, perhaps worn out by the day’s events; Helena has known her to talk her ear off in other situations. Now, though, Olivia just joins her in watching Myka, Chloe, and Tracy, and occasionally making small talk. 

It is the first time Helena has actually seen Myka with a newborn. She was not really around when Max was this small, or even when Olivia, six months younger, was born. 

The sight is, to put it simply, exquisite, and Helena does try her best not to stare. 

Myka is already practically a mother. Only Myka herself would argue otherwise, and while Helena sees her point about parenting roles, she knew very early on, just from hearing her talk about him, that a lifetime of loving Myka meant a lifetime of loving Max. They were a set. It just took Helena some time to get there.

It is funny, though: despite how often children have abstractly been discussed in their relationship, Helena has never asked Myka if she wanted a child of her own.

Or now, more accurately, if Myka wants a child of _their_ own.

She couldn’t fathom the question before. There are so many reasons _not_ to, chief among them Christina. 

Would it be betraying her memory to bring another child into her heart and life? Would it be fair to the child? Could she ever love another child like she loved her Christina?

Except.

Macsen Lattimer has already stolen into her heart as much as he has Myka’s, and her memory of and love for Christina is as strong as ever. It still hurts, every day, and it will never stop, but the idea of a future...

She looks down at the younger girl in her lap, the child that looks so much like her Myka, and Helena allows herself to _want_.

To want a future and a life and a _child_ with Myka.

Maybe.

Or at least to try.

 

***

 

“So. When are Liv and Chloe getting a little cousin?” Tracy asks, that oh-so-sisterly, nagging smile in place.

Myka quickly glances over to where Helena sits, Olivia snuggled on her lap, talking quietly. She hopes she can’t hear.

“Oh, I don’t think-” she stutters to defend, looking back down at her sweet little niece in her arms. 

“Oh, come on. It’s the twenty-first century. All the lesbians are doing it.”

Myka sighs. Ever since she told Tracy about her relationship with Helena, her sister has become an expert on all things sapphic.

“We’re so busy with Max, you know, and work-”

“Look at that squishy face,” Tracy interrupts, leaning over to gently pinch Chloe’s cheeks. The infant just yawns in response. “Don’t you want one of your own?”

She would be lying if she just flat out said _no_ , but she’s always been rational about these things.

“Helena... she _lost_ a child. A while ago. Christina. She was eight.”

“Oh.”

Finally, something to shut Tracy up. 

No, she shouldn’t be so mean; her sister does look pretty devastated.

“So I don’t really think that’s in the cards.”

“I’m so sorry,” Tracy says earnestly.

Myka shakes her head.

“You didn’t know. So,” she changes the subject to something she knows Tracy can go on and on about. “How is Kevin adjusting to a house full of women?”

 

***

 

HG sits down in the workspace she shares with Claudia and asks:

“What do you know about artificial insemination?”

Claudia sputters out her coffee.

“Um, what?”

HG opens her mouth to repeat herself, but Claudia holds up a hand.

“No, I got it. Just, isn’t this something you should be talking about with Myka? Have you talked about it with Myka? Are you guys having a baby?!”

“Ah, I have not broached the subject with her yet,” HG dampens Claudia’s glee. “But I have been thinking about it. In fact, it’s all I can think about. And it seems that is how women in our situation have children.”

“Yeah, that or adoption, but I can’t imagine anyone at the Warehouse passing a home study for that.” Claudia takes a deep breath. “Um, really? You want another kid?”

It’s been years, and HG is now less of a larger than life figure and more of a confidante. She feels like she can ask these questions.

“Most days, yes.”

Claudia nods thoughtfully.

“Cool. Very cool. Okay, I will do some research, but _you_ need to talk to Myka.”

HG drinks thoughtfully from her cup of tea and says: “Indeed.”

 

***

 

“Agey! Agey!”

“Hello, Max, did you have a nice morning at school?” HG asks as she lifts the excitable three-and-a-half-year-old into her lap.

“Yes! It was fingerpaint day!” He holds up his stained fingers. “Is Daddy home?”

“Working, my love.”

“Aunt Mykes?”

“With your father. They should be here when you wake up tomorrow morning.”

“Okay!” Max says brightly, used to such arrangements. “Aunt Leena, can I have my picher to show Agey?”

Leena has finally joined them in the living room, with an armload of groceries as well as Max’s Superman backpack.

“Max, you should have helped Aunt Leena,” HG reproaches gently.

“Oops, sorry,” Max leaps from her lap and runs to Leena, holding out his arms. HG follows him. 

“Thanks, Max,” Leena smiles, dropping the lightest bag into his waiting arms. She looks to HG. “I’ve got these, but there are a few more in the car.”

“I’ll retrieve them.”

“And _then_ my pit-cher, _please_ , Aunt Leena,” Max begs. “I made it special for Agey and Aunt Mykes.”

 

***

 

“No more tentacle missions,” Myka groans as they climb the stairs. “You can take Steve. Or Helena. Or better yet, Deandre. Tentacles are totally a New Guy job.”

Pete laughs, but it’s weak. He’s exhausted, too.

“We’ll let Artie know.”

He peeks his head into Max’s room to check on his son and panic chases the exhaustion away. There are a million rational reasons why Max might not be in his bed, but the panic is there all the same.

“Max isn’t in his room,” he whispers urgently.

Myka holds up a hand and quickly opens the door to the room she shares with Helena. She turns to give him a grin and thumbs up. Pete shakes his head and joins her to check for himself. 

Yep, Max has once again conned his way into his HG’s bed. She falls for it the most of any of them, but maybe they’re both just a little lonely whenever Pete and Myka are away.

“I’ll move him,” Myka insists, shooing him. “Get some sleep. He’ll be up at the crack of dawn.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Pete sloppily salutes as Myka shoves him out the door.”

 

***

 

Myka grins as she sees the way Helena and Max are snuggled together in the center of their bed. They are very sweet with each other.

Helena immediately stirs when Myka puts a hand on Max.

“It’s just me,” Myka soothes, leaning across to kiss her briefly. Helena gives her a soft, sleepy smile. “I’m going to take him back to his room.”

Max mumbles a little in his sleep, something about waffles, and Myka and Helena share a quiet laugh. Myka gathers the increasingly heavy boy in her arms, kissing his temple, and turns to carry him across the hall.

“Myka, wait,” Helena calls.

Myka turns back, eying the Winnie the Pooh in Helena’s hands. She grins and maneuvers so she can put the silly bear on Max’s stomach. Helena meets her eyes with a flicker of uncertainty before blurting:

“What do you think about having a baby?”

Myka freezes but manages to not drop Max.

“ _Our_ baby,” Helena clarifies.

"A baby?"

"I'm sorry,” Helena hurries to say, suddenly wide awake. “I should have brought it up at a more opportune time."

"No, it's- I'm gonna go put him down. Hold that thought?"

Helena nods, and Myka juggles Max in order to open the door, her mind running at a million miles a minute.

 

***

 

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

 

***

 

Myka's heart is racing while she tucks Max into his newly acquired big boy bed. Max snores a little and fumbles for Pooh. Brushing his bangs from his eyes (and noting that he needs a haircut), Myka focuses on Helena's earnest and yet completely unexpected question. 

"Goodnight, Max. Sweet dreams," she says with a deep sigh, steeling herself for the coming conversation.

She sneaks back across the hall and closes the door behind her. 

"So," she says, settling onto her side of the bed. "A baby?"

"Have you never considered it?" Helena asks, sitting fully up in the bed. She sounds hurt.

Myka tries not to be distracted by the way the stretched out shirt exposes a delicious sliver of Helena's collarbone.

"No, I just- I didn't _let_ myself think about it, Helena. It took you a year to spend more than a few minutes with Max. I thought with Christina-"

"I thought so, too," Helena admits, reaching for her hand. "And maybe I'm not ready, but Myka, it's all I can think about. Since our trip to Colorado... Before that, even. Every time someone mistakes Max for ours, I cannot help but think _what if_."

"Really?" Myka asks softly. 

"Yes."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay," Myka nods, squeezing her hand. "Let's talk about it. Can I sleep on it? To catch up?" 

"Of course, darling." Helena gives her hand a gentle tug, and Myka slips into the sheets, warm and inviting in the chilly South Dakota winter. "How was your trip?"

“Tentacles.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

 

***

 

Pete wakes up with a face full of Pull-Up.

“Max,” he complains. “You have a bed.”

“Wake up, Daddy,” Max orders. “You’re home.”

“Go bug Aunt Myka. She’s home, too.”

“Nope.”

“Max.”

“Missed you. Wake up.” 

Pete lets out a roar that is only partly feigned and flips his son onto the pillow beside him, commencing a tickle assault. Max giggles manically. 

“Alright,” Pete relents eventually, tossing a still-giggling Max over his shoulder. “Breakfast?”

“Yes, please, Daddy!”

“Great. If we go fast enough, maybe we can have Fruit Loops.”

“Aunt Mykes says no.”

“She doesn’t have to know. Shh.”

They’re up before the rest of the inn, so Pete pours them both some Fruit Loops and OJ and starts the coffee pot.

“What’d you do yesterday?” Pete asks.

“Nuffin,” Max yawns into his cereal, scratching at his sloppy, too long hair.

“Nothing? You just sat there and stared at each other all morning at pre-school?”

“No,” Max laughs. “Painted pitchers.”

“Pictures? Oh cool!”

“Mhmm.”

“What about after school? Who picked you up?”

“Aunt Leena,” Max answers with a grin. “Went shoppin’.”

“For... shoes?”

“Noo,” Max giggles.

“For... computers?”

“Nooooo.”

“For... bananas?”

“Yeah!”

“You went shopping for bananas?” Pete laughs.

“Yep, at the grocery store.”

“ _Ohh_ ,” Pete nods. “You’re an expert at that. How was the turkey man?”

“Good,” Max tells him around a mouthful of cereal.

“What did you do after school?”

“Dunno.”

“Did you hang out with HG?”

“Yeah,” Max smiles.

“And what did you do?”

Max shrugs.

“Good morning, guys.”

“Hi, Dre,” Max greets the newest Warehouse agent easily as he passes through on his way to get some coffee from the kitchen.

Former CIA agent Deandre Williams still bears the title New Guy, even as he approaches the end of the second year he’s served in Univille. Considering Steve had the designation for about four years before him, no one is too worried about the length of his tenure. 

(Steve had briefly tried to argue for HG to be “New Guy” after her return, which prompted an “Old Guy” joke from Pete, a glare from HG, and the subject to never be broached again.) 

Despite basically everyone’s misgivings, Deandre has blended rather easily into the group: his comfort and ease with Max is the primary reason. A secondary one was how nonchalantly he took the revelation of HG’s identity. _“Takes a lot to surprise the CIA,”_ he’d quipped.

“How’re your ‘loops, Max?” Dre asks the toddler as he takes the seat across from him. “You tell your dad what we did yesterday?”

“No! You didn’t tell me you hung out with Dre, too,” Pete nudges Max.

“No? Max, I’m hurt. What’d we do yesterday?”

“Ice cream,” Max grins. 

“Exactly! He was getting a little antsy after dinner, so I offered to take him out.”

“And get him sugared up?” Pete grins.

“I let him run laps around the ice cream store,” Deandre laughs. “How was the mission?”

“Tentacles,” Pete declares gleefully.

“Oh man. Poor Myka.”

“She’s so easy,” Pete laughs.

 

***

 

“I’m going to tell you something. You have to promise not to tell _anyone_.”

Myka’s sudden announcement is quite the contrast to the very quiet morning they’ve had doing paperwork. He’d assumed she was still just shaken up by all the tentacles. Pete quickly stops his chair-spinning to look at her.

“Okay...”

“And you can’t freak out.”

“Mykes, what’s going on?”

“You have to promise,” Myka insists, looking around the office to make sure they’re alone.

“Okay, okay. I promise. I won’t freak out.”

“Helena wants a baby.”

“Alright. Trying really hard to not freak out right now,” Pete gapes.

“Thank you.”

“So, what do _you_ want?” he asks, pulling his chair closer to her. 

“I have no idea.”

“What did you tell her?”

“That I’d think about it.”

“I’ve always thought that you’d be a great mom,” he says easily, meeting her eyes. “Hell, you _are_ a great mom.”

“Aunt.”

“Potato, potah-to, for Maxy,” Pete points out. “I’m actually really surprised that HG-”

“Yeah, me too,” she cuts him off. “That’s why I haven’t really thought about it. Which I need to do. Think. Pros and cons and-”

“Okay, yeah, thinking is good,” Pete nods along, “But how do you _feel_?”

“What?”

“What does your gut say?”

“That’s your thing,” Myka protests.

“Yeah,” Pete agrees, rustling up some blank paper and finding his pen under his mountains of reports. “But I’m gonna humor you on your list thing in a second, so how about you humor me? When HG brought up a baby, what was your gut instinct?”

“I was holding your son at the time, so my gut instinct was to not drop him.”

“And I appreciate it, but beyond that. When I say, ‘Hey, Myka, do you wanna have a kid?’ what does though your mind?”

“Not with you,” Myka quips.

“You’re S.O.L., ‘cause he’s already in pre-school,” Pete fires back. “Answer the actual question, Myka.”

His partner sighs. It’s been a long time since Pete has seen her so pensive; it’s obvious that this decision is weighing heavily on her.

“Yes,” Myka finally answers, and there’s a bit of a smile lurking underneath her furrowed brow. “Yes, but-”

“Nuh-huh, buts are for later when we do your stupid lists. This is gut instinct. And you said yes.” 

“Buts matter, Pete! It’s one thing to make the best of the situation as it existed. When a baby showed up on our doorstep. But it’s a whole other to make an active choice to bring a child into the world. Into _our_ world.”

“Okay,” Pete allows, pushing the pen and paper across the desk to Myka. “But also, there’s already a plan in place for raising a baby here. Max already baby-proofed our lives. You have a family here that loves you and would love any kid you brought into it. So let’s do the list. I’ll start: Pro: any kid of yours would be really, really cute.”

Myka laughs as Pete continues:

“Con: more diapers. Now you go.”

 

***

 

Helena looks up at the sound of a knock on the doorframe of her work space. The Top Secret Shed still gets much use, but their official Warehouse tinkering is done here, in the Warehouse itself.

“I’m going home,” Myka says with a soft smile. “Wanna come with?”

“I think I’ll stay a bit longer, if that’s alright. I believe I’m quite close to figuring out what this damned thing is,” Helena grins wryly, motioning to the contraption on her table.

Myka pushes out of the doorway and into the laboratory, slipping behind Helena’s seat, laying her hands on her shoulders, and kissing her gently behind her ear.

“Want me to stay?” Myka asks warmly, massaging the knots in her shoulders.

“Unless you have something else you need to be doing, love?”

“Nothing,” Myka promises.

“You don’t need to get home to see Max?”

“I went home for lunch with him,” Myka shakes her head. “I can wait. What are you working on?”

“An excellent question,” Helena chuckles, taking the device into her purple-gloved hands. “I believe it is some sort of incendiary device, built, according to my research, some time ago.”

“How long?” Myka asks curiously, moving to lean against the work table. 

“Some time between the year I was bronzed and the year I was unbronzed.”

“So you’ve narrowed it down,” Myka smirks.

“Exactly.”

“How do you know it starts fires?”

“Aha,” Helena grins, handing Myka some goggles and pulling her own up from around her neck. She pushes at Myka’s hip. “Stand back, please, darling.”

Myka does as she’s told, holding the goggles up to her face as Helena manipulated the teapot-sized (and vaguely - _shaped_ ) machine for a moment. Suddenly, fire springs from the “spout”. In a rather large quantity.

“Is that a fire-breathing teapot?” Myka asks incredulously as Helena shuts it down. She smothers an affectionate laugh as Helena pats out a stray ember dangerously close to one of her many Post-Its.

“I guess that is one possibility,” Helena says with that look of child-like glee she gets when things light up or explode or do anything else only she and Claudia would classify as “cool”. 

“I thought you said you were close to figuring it out.”

“I am. I can feel it.”

This time it’s an affectionate eye roll, and she makes no effort to hide it.

“Okay.” Myka leans over to kiss Helena’s cheek, but it’s apparently not enough, because Helena ducks her and then turns the tables, pressing a warm kiss to her lips, gloved hand lingering at her hip.

“Just a bit longer. I promise,” her mad scientist swears.

“Take your time,” Myka reassures her, picking out a stool a few paces away: far enough to not be in the way, close enough to shameless ogle the master at work.

“Five minutes” becomes ten minutes becomes twenty, and Myka’s mind is left to wander, to work itself all the way up to - 

“Our lives are dangerous.”

Helena’s hands freeze at their work.

“I mean, really dangerous, in ways normal people can’t imagine.”

“Yes,” Helena agrees, setting down her work and beginning to strip off her gloves.

“Why are you willing to take that risk? Even if we could insure the safety of the baby, we couldn’t say we’d always be safe. The chances of one of us-”

“I know,” Helena nods. “Myka, I _know_ , all of the risks. I just want us to discuss whether they all are worth the reward.”

“A child.”

“Our child.”

“ _Our_ child,” Myka ratifies with a smile as Helena moves closer.

“Christina’s death had nothing to do with the Warehouse.”

Myka feels her stomach drop out at the mention of Helena’s daughter, the girl she’s come to love and mourn despite the century separating them. But Helena’s face merely shows the slightest frown, her eyes reflect just that quiet sadness reserved for Christina’s memory these days, and she presses on.

“She was with my perfectly safe and _normal_ , as you say, cousins. I’d dare say that a child would be far more safe in that bed and breakfast than anywhere else in the world. We’ve already made sure of that.”

“But our jobs still aren’t safe,” Myka counters.

“No, but neither is the world, and at least here we’re doing some good.”

“I know, I know, I just...”

“So if we lived in a quiet little town, much like this one but with fewer... oddities, would that make the decision easier? If we could live a “normal” life, disregarding the fact that I am over a century out of time, would you want a child?”

“Yes. Definitely yes.”

“Is that what you want then?” Helena asks softly, tugging on the end of Myka’s blazer. “Because we could-”

“No, that’s not us,” Myka shakes her head. “Maybe someday, but not yet. Our whole family is here.”

“Excepting your parents and sister.”

“We’re sure as hell not moving closer to _them_.”

Helena laughs, her nose wrinkling in amusement.

“Darling, I only want you to be happy.”

“I’m happy now,” Myka insists, looking off. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be happy with our kid, I just... Helena, I’m _scared_.”

Helena smiles softly.

“That fear is there for any parent. The terror. It’s as if your heart is walking about outside of your chest and you’ve so little control over what happens to it. Christina was my heart. And when I,” Helena closes her eyes, “When she died, well, you know what it took to put me back together again.”

“I do,” Myka agrees insistently, focusing on Helena. “And I don’t understand why you want to risk that again.”

Helena laughs, but it’s half-sigh, a soft release of air with a barely upturned smile.

“Because I wouldn’t trade a moment that I had with my Christina for anything. Every second with her was a gift. It was worth the pain. _She_ was worth the pain.”

Myka closes her eyes against the tears.

“And are you sure you’re ready for all of it again?”

“No,” Helena says honestly. “But I’ll never be sure.”

“I want you to talk to Dr. Zhang about it. Or anyone else a little more removed from everything.”

“I was already planning on going on Thursday,” Helena assures her.

“And I need a little more time to think it through. Then, if we both decide the answer is yes, we’ll take it from there. And if the answer is no?”

She searches Helena’s face for an answer.

“Then that is the answer,” Helena shrugs. “I don’t need a child of our own to be happy, Myka. _You_ make me happy. So if we think it over and decide we are better off as we are now, then no harm is done.”

“Okay,” Myka nods, pulling Helena into a tight embrace and finally relaxing a little. Reviewing the lists with Pete had been helpful, but no one knows her better than her Helena.

 

 

***

 

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

*** 

“Go fish,” Claudia tells the boy across from her very seriously.

Max, settled in Myka’s lap and struggling to hold all his cards, nods and takes the card she offers him and adds it to the mess in his hands.

“Okay, your turn, Aunt Claud,” Myka prompts.

Claudia looks over her cards, then studies Max dramatically over the top of them. The boy giggles.

“Do you have any sevens, little boy?” she asks.

Max opens his mouth to answer, but Myka instead looks over all of his cards with him, searching for a seven. When they’re done, Myka whispers the proper response in his ear.

“Aunt Claud, go fish!” Max faithfully repeats.

“Aw dang it,” Claudia pouts dramatically, which makes both Max and Myka laugh as Claudia draws a card.

“Okay, Max, our turn,” Myka says, tapping on his knees.

Trailer wanders over to their spot on the living room floor and lays down, head on his paws, watching the game with interest. Or more likely, waiting for them to be done so he’ll entertain him.

“Hi, Trailer,” Max greets, leaning out of Myka’s lap to pat the dog’s head. 

“Come on, buddy, we have to decide on our cards,” Myka reminds him.

Max refocuses, but he’s clearly at a loss for quite how this game works.

The front door opens, and both Max and Trailer look up expectantly. No one boring ever walks through that door.

“Ah, look, my three favorite people; don’t tell the others.”

“Agey!”

HG enters the living room and drops her duffle bag by the door. Max is clambering to his feet, cards falling everywhere. HG greets his running hug gamely, lifting him into her arms and giving him a great squeeze.

“Hello, darlings,” she says as she sinks down beside Trailer, pausing to kiss the top of Claudia’s head in a way that always makes the young woman blush. She settles Max in her lap and leans over greet Myka with a kiss. “What are we doing?”

“We were playing Go Fish, but I think Max was getting bored,” Myka tells her, grinning at the way the affectionate little boy has curled into HG. 

“I was kicking their butts, and they’re just looking for an excuse to quit,” Claudia quips, collecting the messily strewn cards and idly shuffling them. “How was Regent Central?”

“Uneventful.”

“Does uneventful mean nothing happened or nothing happened that you can tell us about?” Claudia asks.

“A little of both,” HG laughs as Max plays gently with the locket hanging from her neck. “Did you miss me as terribly as I missed you, Macsen?”

“Yes,” Max says resolutely.

“You two are so dramatic. It was forty-eight hours,” Myka teases.

“Oh, she’s talking tough, but she missed you, too. Still so _moon_ -y,” Claudia rolls her eyes.

HG grins, looking back down at the boy in her lap.

“And did you look after your Aunt Myka like I asked?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” HG says as she kisses his temple. “She needs much looking after.”

Max laughs, just at the conspiratorial tone in her voice, and Myka shakes her head. HG leans over to kiss her again.

 

***

 

Before, Helena was not the type to share her bed, at least for sleeping, and certainly not for more than a night or two. 

Now, though, she and Myka have shared their bed at the bed and breakfast for over two years, every night except those where they are separately hunting artifacts or running Regent errands. While hotel beds were once of no consequence to Helena, just another place to lay her head, now she finds that sleeping without Myka beside her is exceptionally difficult, especially when she is not in _their_ bed, when she doesn’t have Myka’s pillow to pull close.

She is happy to be home.

Even if Myka’s beautiful long limbs have a tendency to mean that Helena often wakes to an elbow or knee in her ribs. 

Helena shakes her head and gently pushes Myka’s elbow out of her gut. Myka mumbles in her sleep, and Helena wraps her in her arms, kissing her shoulder. 

_“I don’t think she trusts that I am ready.”_

_“Do you trust that you are ready?”_

Her answer had been yes, to Dr. Zhang’s stupid, searching, insightful question, because the more she thinks about it, the more ready she is. Still, she understands thoughtful, deliberate Myka’s reluctance. 

The more she comes to know and love Max in his own right, the less her mind feels the need to constantly draw connections to her Christina. Her bad nights are extremely rare and spaced closely to the anniversaries of Christina’s birth and death. She’s learned to handle and often cherish the nights that Max wakes them in the night, when he is sick or scared or simply not keen on sleeping. She still has a minor heart attack when he trips or falls or in any other way throws his fragile little body around like the active child he is, but it’s a momentary fear, not a lingering, crippling terror.

But that took a _very_ long time, a time that tore Myka apart as much as it tore at Helena. To start over with a newborn, with _their_ child... She’s not replacing the beloved child she lost, but it is certainly different, possibly even more fraught with pitfalls, than learning to love unexpected young Macsen. 

She will be terrified, she knows, possible every moment of every day. She told Myka that the fear was normal, but maybe she hadn’t been scared enough with Christina. Maybe she didn’t take enough precautions while she spent hours in the lab or flitted across Europe tracking curiosities.

Maybe this all a terrible idea, and ever-prudent Myka will shoot her fancies down (gently of course), but these days Helena dreams of sharing a child with Myka nearly as often as she dreams of her darling Christina. Her guilt tamped down that desire for months, but now that she’s voiced the though, she finds she grows more comfortable with it every day. 

_“Myka may say no.”_

_“She very well may. She is nothing if not meticulously rational when she wishes to be.”_

_“And what then?”_

_“Then she does, and we go on as we are, but at least we have discussed it.”_

_“You won’t be disappointed?”_

_“I trust her judgment. And I want this for us. If she doesn’t want it, neither do I.”_

Dr. Zhang had eyed her warily, but simply nodded and reminded her to call if she needed her.

 

***

 

“Suck it, Donovan! Yoshi just schooled your stupid Toad ass!”

“You’re a father!” Claudia reproaches through a laugh, even as she grimaces at Pete’s Yoshi Kart doing the victory spin on the screen. “You shouldn’t be talking like that. Speaking of, when do we get to teach Maxy how to play?”

“Myka says it isn’t good for him,” Pete says after he’s finished his dance of glory. “She’s not going to win that one forever; I’ll overrule her when he’s older, but for now, he’s just three.”

“Almost four,” Claudia grins. “Four in a few months.”

“Four-and-a-half! Four-and-a-half months! More than a few,” Pete insists. “Let’s not have him grow up any faster than he already is.”

“Okay,” Claudia says skeptically, thumb scrolling through their options for their next race.

“Mykes is smart about this stuff, anyway. I’ll trust her on it for a while longer.”

“What isn’t Myka smart about?”

“True,” Pete laughs. “She’s extra good about this parent stuff, though. Ooh! This one!”

He nudges her shoulder, and she chooses the track for a rematch. She’s gonna get Yoshi’s dinosaur ass this time.

She’s distracted, though, and after she dies for the second time, she pauses the game with an:

“Okay, dude.”

“Hey! You can’t pause the game just ‘cause you suck!” Pete objects.

“Shut up for a second. I have to tell you something. But you can’t talk to anyone else about it. Even Myka. Okay?”

“Jeez, everyone with the secrets,” Pete mumbles under his breath, then louder: “Okay, yeah. I can do that. What’s up?”

Claudia weights the decision to spill one more time, but she just _has_ to get this off her chest. 

“HG wants a baby,” she announces, bracing herself for his shock.

Instead he just says seriously: “I know.”

“You know?! How? Who- “

“Myka told me.”

“She talked to Myka?!” Claudia squeals excitedly. 

“Yep.”

“And what did Myka say?” Claudia demands, tugging on his shirt sleeve. “Are we going to have another baby?!”

“We made a pro and con list,” Pete chuckles.

Claudia rolls her eyes.

“But given the cute little Myka smile she gets right before all the logical Myka working starts when we talk about it, I think our chances are good.”

Claudia squeals again. 

“Once she realizes that,” he adds, but Claudia is still alight with child-like excitement, and he laughs a little. 

“Alright, Donovan. You ready to race for real?” 

 

***

 

They discuss Helena’s visit to Dr. Zhang briefly after her return. Helena ratifies her continued desire to have a child, which puts the ball very firmly in Myka’s court.

And in Myka’s court it stays for a few weeks. Their job keeps them busy, and what little down time they have is usually spent with Max, or discussing mundane things, or decidedly _not talking_ about anything at all, except for heated whispers of encouragement. 

They draw an assignment to Los Angeles, which as always leads to a gruff Artie reminder that this is _for work_ , and there’s no time to talk, then, either, since they spend nearly every moment tracking down Marie Antoinette’s dessert plate. 

That’s how March begins to bleed into April, and the matter remains undecided. 

 

***

 

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

 

***

 

Max amazes him more every day, and not just because of his preternatural abilities with technology, though Claudia does have to change the passwords on all of their devices every few days and has taken on Max-proofing like it is some sort of insult to her own abilities. 

Right now, Max is hard at work with Leena, seated at the kitchen table, paintbrush in hand. Each has their own masterpiece in front of them, but both pieces of paper have the tell-tale marks of the other on them, proving a little cross-pollination and maybe even a paint war for dominance. Max has one of Claudia’s old flannel shirts, rolled to his elbows and splattered with paint. Pete sits across from them and watches the masters at work.

“See, Daddy? Flower. Like spring.”

Max jabs a finger onto the paper, causing the still wet paint to smudge. A brief flash of panic crosses Max’s face, but then he just dabs another glob of red on to cover it up. 

“It’s beautiful, Max,” Leena praises, leaning over to pick at a partially dried gloop of green in Max’s hair. She makes a face and then laughs, promising: “It’ll come out in the bathtub.”

“You did a great job, buddy,” Pete agrees. “I wish spring would hurry up and get here, though.”

He glances out at the cold, grey April morning. Sometimes South Dakota is just _so_ South Dakota.

Leena hangs the paintings (his and hers) to dry on the line that stretches across the kitchen, and Max pulls out a fresh piece of paper. After taking suggestions, Max begins another, uh, _abstract_ project.

“Are you okay?” Leena asks Pete softly once Max is distracted.

“Fine. Yeah. Why?”

“Everyone’s auras are just a little... high strung these days. Except for Claudia’s. Which is very, very... peppy.”

“I thought auras were colors not adjectives,” Pete muses, a little annoyed.

“Do you really care which colors correspond with which emotions?” Leena asks pointedly.

“Yeah, okay,” Pete concedes.

“So what’s up?”

“Nothing, Leena,” Pete smiles gently. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Myka and HG are the other two so on edge. Do you know anything about that?”

Pete makes a face before he can catch himself.

“If it’s a secret...” Leena quickly backs off. 

“It is,” Pete sighs.

“But it’s bothering you, whatever’s bothering them.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Pete reassures her, repeating himself.

Leena gives him a very skeptical look, but drops it, for now.

 

***

 

“Myka and HG are gonna have a baby. Maybe,” Pete finally blurts three hours later. 

God, this is the worst kept secret ever. But in his defense, Claudia totally squealed the last time, not him. 

“What?” Leena asks, hands faltering only slightly as she folds the dozens of tiny t-shirts Max seems to get dirty in a week. Pete pushes into the laundry room and starts to help, grabbing for the pile of unmatched socks.

“That’s what’s up with my aura.”

“And theirs,” is all Leena says, nodding thoughtfully.

“Yeah.”

“So why does that have you all over the place?” Leena asks mildly.

Pete doesn’t answer, not for awhile. Not until after he’s paired all the tiny socks and has moved onto the superhero briefs.

“It’s just, y’know, _our_ thing,” Pete sighs. “Me and Myka.”

“What was?” Leena asks gently.

“Having a kid. Together. It was-- HG gets everything else. But we had this.”

“Oh, Pete.”

“That sounds ridiculous,” Pete sighs, dropping some Iron Man undies onto the stack. “Forget I said it.”

“Okay,” Leena agrees with one more of her searching looks.

Now onto the towels.

“I’m happy for them. If that’s what they want. I mean. They’re, you know, them. Unlikely, once-in-a-lifetime, them.”

“I know you are,” Leena assures. “It would change a lot, though. It would be an adjustment for Max. For you. For all of us.”

“Yeah,” Pete says, because what she says makes sense.

“And you’ll have to share her with someone else.”

Pete smiles wanly.

“I’ve been sharing her for a long time now.”

Leena doesn’t have a chance to respond, though, because they’re interrupted by a war cry and a flurry of activity: rubber sneaker soles on wood floors, Trailer’s nails following along, Max flinging himself deep into the laundry room. 

“Daddy! Save me! The monsters is chasing me!”

“Get back here!” comes one familiar voice, following by another:

“You can’t hide forever!”

“Aunt Claud and Uncle Steve is gonna gets me,” Max squeaks.

Adult footsteps grow closer, and Claudia declares:

“Stand aside, Trailer! We know he’s in there!”

Pete thinks fast. He grabs two close-by brooms.

“Arm yourself, Maximus,” Pete tells his son, who is cowering between his father and aunt. “We’ll defeat them together.”

 

***

 

Claudia gives a frustrated huff before typing a few commands into the netbook. A gaggle of smartphones and tables is spread around her on the dining room table, and they all simultaneously chirp, buzz, and flash.

“Alright. Try to beat that, you little stinker.”

“At what point is it going to be _just_ you and Max that can get into those?” Leena asks, dropping a hand onto her shoulder and startling her. 

“He keeps ruining my Fruit Ninja stats. Plus, he has sticky fingers,” Claudia complains. “You know, I never thought hacking was genetic. Not like this.”

“It would be far from the strangest thing we’ve ever seen.”

“True,” Claudia allows. “Not that I don’t love another techno geek in the family. The damage he, HG, and I could do when he gets old enough...”

Claudia cranes her neck up to see Leena giving her the raised eyebrow.

“I mean, good,” she says as she clears her throat. “The good we can do.”

“Mhmm,” Leena says skeptically. “Did you change the security settings again?”

“Yep. We’ll see if this holds him for at least a week.”

Leena squeezes her shoulder and then takes the seat next to hers, opening up a book. Claudia grabs up her smart phone and swipes at the screen, leaning back in the chair and focusing. 

“Are you working on your Fruit Ninja?” Leena teases.

“Hush,” Claudia reproaches, eyes never leaving the screen and forefinger hard at work. 

Leena rolls her eyes. They share a companionable silence for awhile. Around them, the inn buzzes with its usual life. Steve and Pete are away on assignment and Artie is puttering away at the Warehouse, but Dre and HG are in the living room catching up on some paperwork and Myka has taken a particularly grumpy Max to bed a little earlier than usual.

“Are you humming?” Leena asks with a soft laugh, grinning. 

“No,” Claudia defends, mock-affronted, staring resolutely at the screen in front of her and very faintly blushing.

“Mhmm.”

“Fine, yes. Yes, I’m humming. Max and I took a drive today, and we were listening to They Might Be Giants, and they’re catchy, okay?”

“You took a drive?”

“Yeah, when I had him this afternoon. Sometimes we... go for drives. In the Prius.”

“Where do you go?” Leena asks curiously, setting down her book.

“Anywhere,” Claudia shrugs. “Nowhere. We’re just taking a drive. We put on the stereo and just... go.”

“How did I never know this?” 

Claudia shrugs again. 

“I dunno. It’s usually just when everyone else is busy. It’s our thing.”

Leena smiles at her, and Claudia scowls. 

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“It’s _sweet_.”

Claudia rolls her eyes. Leena picks up her book, to avoid further embarrassing the adult hacker in their midst. She studiously avoids making a comment when Claudia starts humming under her breath again.

 

***

 

He falls asleep halfway through tonight’s stories, but Myka shuts out the light and continues to rock him anyway. His breath is heavy and steady against her neck, head nestled at her shoulder, Pooh wedged between them. Outside the door, there’s the low hum of domestic life in the bed and breakfast, but Max seems to have learned to fall asleep no matter the noise level, the quiet din of his large family’s bustling everyday life often just outside the door. 

Myka closes her eyes and tries to remember what it was like to hold his tiny infant body like this. In many ways, it feels just like yesterday, but in others, it’s fuzzy, slipping. She remembers how even at three or four months, he must have had active dreams, because she’d sit up late with him and he’d be stretching out his little arms and feet, movin’ and shakin’ while half-asleep.

He does sleep through the night now, and that is certainly not something he did as a tiny, squalling baby who preferred sleep in two hour increments. It had been a welcome reprieve when the nights he stayed asleep from bedtime to breakfast outnumbered the two a.m. wake up calls. It’s been a wondrous year of normal (at least for Warehouse agents) sleep.

Is she ready to start back at newborn?

It’s a silly question amid a million more serious ones, all of which she’s turned over in her head over and over, but she is leaving no stone unturned in her soul-searching decision about whether to bring a child into this world. The process is probably getting ridiculous at this point, and Helena is being so wonderfully patient, but Myka has always tried to be deliberate in her decision making. Maybe she’s too deliberate at times, but when she’s let her emotions overcome her sensible, rational thoughts, it hasn’t always ended well. Except...

Except Helena.

Except completely and irrationally allowing herself to fall in love with HG Wells. Which was disastrous to start with, but in the end, so completely worth it.

Maybe she’s close to stumbling upon her answer.

 

***

 

Myka wakes to Max wailing.

“Daddy!” he begs between long gulps of air and pitiful sobs.

But Pete and Steve are on a job in San Francisco, so Myka begins to throw back the covers. 

Beside her, Helena jolts awake. Myka sees the confusion cross her face, then the momentary gasp of heartbreak that always follows. The gasp is chased by awareness, though, and worry.

“The poor darling,” she says hoarsely, slipping out from under the blankets.

“Hopefully it’s just a bad dream?” Myka offers as they cross the hall and hurry into Max’s room. “Hey, buddy.”

“Throwed up,” Max hiccups when he sees them.

The evidence is all over his sheets and his fleecy sleeper.

“Oh, Max,” Myka says as she gathers him into her arms. “It’s okay. We have you.”

She kisses his sweaty temple and rocks him against her shoulder as he cries.

“Don’t - feel - good,” Max says between shuddering breaths.

“I know, my love,” Helena says, brushing the hair out of his eyes, frowning at the warmth.

“He’s a bit feverish.”

Myka nods worriedly.

“A bug, we shall hope,” Helena says resolutely.  “Here. I’ll go clean him up a bit if you’ll take the sheets downstairs to the wash?”

“Sure.”

Still rocking him gently, Myka turns Max in her arms so that Helena can unzip him down to his Pull-up. Helena tosses his sleeper onto the bed with the rest of the soiled linens, then lifts the boy into her arms.

“Okay, HG’s got you,” Myka encourages softly. “I’ll be right back.”

Out in the hall, a bleary Deandre stands in his doorway and asks through a yawn:

“Everything okay with the little dude?”

“A stomach bug,” Myka frowns.

Dre takes one look at the wad of sheets in Myka’s arms and pulls a face.

“Y’all need any help?”

“No, we’ve got it.”

“Alright. G’night. Let me know if you need me.”

 

***

 

Downstairs, Myka packs everything into the washer, including her own t-shirt, and starts the wash cycle. Thankfully, there’s a clean load waiting to be folded, and Myka finds one of her wrinkled button-ups to pull on.

The walls of the old inn creak from the water pushing up to fill the bathtub upstairs. Myka gets a cold glass of water from the kitchen in the hopes that Max can keep that down at least.

Yawning, Myka pads up the stairs. The tap stops running in the bathroom when she reaches the second floor, and she can just barely make out the sound of Helena’s voice, gently murmuring. Myka pauses, leaning against the cool wood of the closed door, listening.

There’s some soft splashing, and then a light giggle.

“Oh-ho. You want to play it that way, hmm?” 

Another laugh, which Helena echoes. 

“Come here, little one. Let me wash your hair.”

Max says something, but it’s too soft to hear through the door. 

“Okay, Max, let’s get you dried off. Are you feeling a little better? Oh good. Aunt Myka should be back soon, yes, and we’ll head off back to bed. Mhmm.”

There’s more splashing, and Myka assumes that Helena is grabbing him from the bath now and wrapping him in his fuzzy Super Man towel. Footsteps approach the door, and Myka hears:

“Love you, Agey.”

“I love you, too, Macsen,” Helena promises seriously.

Myka’s heart flutters and she has to pause a moment with her hand on the door to catch her balance. Then, she opens the door before she can be caught eavesdropping. 

“Oh, there she is,” Helena tells the boy on her hip. 

Max gives her a soft smile from where his head is nestled under Helena’s chin, and Myka gives him a beaming grin in response.

“Hey, you,” she greets. “Are you feeling just a little bit better?”

“Mhmm,” Max nods with tired eyes, cheeks still red from fever. 

“Good. Do you want HG to put you to bed?”

Max nods again, and Myka smiles. 

“Okay, drink some water first.”

He takes a few tentative sips, and then Helena spirits him off to his bed. Helena takes a few minutes to calm him down and settle him, talking softly, steadily the whole time, and Myka waits in the hallway, butterflies in her stomach.

When Max’s door clicks shut behind Helena, Myka meets her eyes and says, shakily but with total conviction:

“Yes.”

 

***

 

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: The new chapter is here, and it’s over 2800 words to make up for my absence! I’ve started to add general dates at the beginning of chapters, since I think it makes it easier to follow along, since the pace sorta accelerates and then slows way down. So, for reference, Macsen August Lattimer was born August 7, 2012, and Ours began in February 2016.

***

 

_Early May 2016_

 

***

 

Helena has to admit that she was more prepared for no than yes, and rather unprepared for either answer at this moment, with Myka, rumpled and sleepy, in the hallway, with Max just shuffled back to bed. Of course, she’d sprung the question Myka is now answering on her in a similar situation, and she’s always allowed turnabout as fair play.

“Yes?”” Helena repeats hopefully.

Myka nods. Helena smiles.

“Alright then,” she takes Myka’s hand and pulls her into the privacy of their own bedroom, though no one but Max is up at this hour, and when she left him, he was half a breath from the land of Nod.

“This just means that there’s a million more questions to answer.”

“Of course, darling,” Helena agrees, shutting the door behind her.

“I mean-”

Helena cuts her off with a firm kiss to her lips.

“Not tonight.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Okay,” Myka smiles tremulously. 

“Tonight we celebrate. And then we sleep, because I believe we’ll have quite the grumpy young man in our midst tomorrow.”

Myka nods, hands on Helena’s hips, rubbing slow circles.

“I’m still scared,” she admits softly. 

“As am I,” Helena echoes, pressing a kiss against her neck. 

“But not so scared that I don’t want to try.”

 

***

 

The shrill blast of the Farnsworth breaks her concentration. 

Only an American could have invented something so patently obnoxious. 

Helena rubs at the bridge of her nose and flips open the annoying little box:

“Oh, hello, darling.”

“Hey,” Myka gives her a small smile. “Dr. Calder is here.”

“Excellent. Is she giving him a once-over?”

Max has had a fever on-and-off for two days, and halfway through the second day, Dr. Calder was called in. He’s barely keeping anything down, and he’s cranky and quiet. Pete is back from San Francisco and fussing over Max’s every little cough and moan.

“He’s getting the full work up,” Myka promises. “Are you going to come back to the inn? There’s no rush; Vanessa’s spending the night. But I though we were going to talk to her about...”

“Of course,” Helena nods. “If I may have just an hour or so more? I’m rather in the middle of something and-”

“Take your time,” Myka interrupts, and Helena once again marvels at how she found someone so very understanding of her mad scientist tendencies. “You just wanted to know when she got here.”

“Yes, thank you, very much. I’ll be along soon. How is Max feeling?”

“The same, except loving the attention.”

“His father’s son.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Myka promises as she moves to switch off the Farnsworth.

Helena smiles as her image flickers away, and then she returns her attention to the calculations in front of her.

“Ah, yes. This should produce just the right amount of thrust. I hope.”

 

***

 

“And then he puked all over him,” Claudia is guffawing, smacking Artie on the shoulder. 

On Artie’s other side, Vanessa pats his shoulder soothingly.

“You were a great sport,” she praises.

“Yeah, sure,” Artie grumbles.

“Aw, no, you were. Gramps is good to his Maxy,” Claudia ratifies. “But oh man, HG. I wish you an’ Leena had been here. His face was classic.”

The protagonist of this story is currently snoring against his father’s chest, having fallen asleep there halfway through dinner, his almost four (“three-and-three-quarters!”)-year-old frame curled up in Pete’s warm embrace.

“He’s been feeling better ever since,” Pete finishes the story.

“Ah, so that’s the magical cure, then,” HG grins. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Don’t you dare,” Artie throws at her.

Dinner is winding down: coffee and tea are on the table, and dessert has long since been decimated. The whole team, plus Vanessa, is home tonight, and the meal has been a happily unhurried affair, as evidenced by the way little Max couldn’t stick it out to the end, even with all of that attention.

“I should get him up to bed,” Pete says, struggling to get a firm enough grip to stand without waking Max.

“Let me help,” HG insists, standing and scooping the toddler into her arms. It will not be much longer that she can easily do that.

“Anyone else?” Pete asks lightly. “Tuck in party at Maxy’s.”

There’s a good-natured round of laughter and eye rolls around the table, and Myka shoos them both.

“Hurry back or I’ll finish your tea,” she warns HG.

“Ooh, trouble in paradise,” Pete teases. “Them’s fightin’ words.”

He gets a napkin thrown at him for his troubles.

“You do bring out the violent side in her,” HG notes dryly as they head for the stairs, Max balanced against her shoulder.

“It’s ‘cause I’m so charming.,” he counters.

“Oh, I’m positive that’s it. Full of charms you are, Mr. Lattimer.”

“Don’t forget it, Wells.”

They reach Max’s bedroom and perform a well-practiced balancing act to change and tuck in the boy without waking him. After the last few days, he needs as much rest as he can muster. Once Max’s safely under the covers, Pete feels his forehead and nods approvingly, giving HG a thumbs up. 

With that, they begin to creep out of the room undetected (the most difficult part of their undertaking). Before she can make it to the doorway, however, HG is stopped by Pete’s insistent stage whisper:

“Wait. Where’s Pooh?”

HG scans the floor quickly for their target. Leaving Max without his beloved stuffed animal is basically begging for a disaster. She finds Mr. Winnie-the-Pooh a few paces away and tosses him across the room to where Pete stands by the bed. Pete catches the silly old bear and, with lightning speed, inserts him into Max’s arms.

The intrusion leads Max to whine and snuggle in his sleep. Pete and HG freeze in place, Pete comically mid-step. Max just pulls Pooh closer, though, and settles back down. With relief, the two make their escape.

“That was close,” Pete says once they are outside the door. 

“I was reminded very much of that one time in Istanbul,” HG says wryly.

“Hey, I though we weren’t going to talk about that.”

“Not a word, Peter,” HG says with a devilish grin.

“You didn’t tell Myka, did you?” Pete asks as they make their way back downstairs.

“Are you insane? There’s as much peril in the Istanbul story for me as there is for you.”

“True,” Pete agrees. “Our little secret.”

 

***

 

With a full house of naturally nosy Warehouse agents, it takes a while for the two of them to subtly get a moment alone with Vanessa. In fact, it isn’t until right as everyone is headed up to bed that they can pull her aside.

“Sorry to keep you,” Myka apologizes.

“And for pulling me into the laundry room?” Vanessa asks, clearly amused by her shanghai-ing.

“Yes, sorry for that,” HG agrees. “It’s surprisingly one of the only places here one can avoid eavesdroppers.”

“Intentional or otherwise,” Myka adds.

“Well, you’ve got me. What is it?”

“We would like to make an appointment. Somewhere a little more confidential,” HG starts.

“Of course. Is everything okay?” Vanessa asks, brow furrowed with worry.

“Hopefully,” Myka smiles nervously. “We want to have a baby.”

“Oh!” Vanessa beams. “That’s wonderful!”

“We haven’t told any-” HG says.

“Yes, of course, perfectly confidential,” Vanessa promises. “Let me read up a little, then we’ll make an appointment. Early next week? I’m coming back here midweek, but perhaps we can sneak away to Featherhead a day early? I’ll be in touch. _Congratulations_.”

“Save those for later. This is just... preliminary,” Myka says.

“Got it,” Vanessa nods. “Well then. We’ll get started.”

 

***

 

She’s enjoying the finally warmer weather and her rather large stack of reading material out on the front porch when Max comes barreling up from the dusty driveway, backpack bouncing behind him.

“Aunt Mykes!”

“Hey, monster!”

He jumps and trips up the stairs, slamming happily into her side.

“Whoa, hey there, be careful,” Myka say gently. “Are you okay?”

“Yep!” Max beams, stubby fingers playing at the watch on her wrist.

“Where’s Uncle Steve?” Myka asks. She instinctively moves to brush his hair from his forehead, but Pete took him yesterday to get it buzzed for the summer, even though it’s still early in May. Instead, she leans forward and kisses his forehead, grateful he’s feeling so much better. His stomach flu knocked him out for most of the previous week. 

“He’s comin’.”

Just then, Steve comes up from the driveway, looking a little harried.

“Thanks for picking him up,” Myka smiles.

“No worries. Did you and HG get whatever you were looking for in Featherhead?”

“You know, I think so. Sorry for the change in plans.”

“It’s the Warehouse; last minute errands always happen.”

“We went to the park,” Max says. “After school.”

“Ooh fun,” Myka says to the little one, tickling his sides.

“Definitely,” Steve grins, fishing in his pocket. “Oh, here’s the GPS. Tell Claudia or HG that they’ll need to fix it; it fell out of his shoe on the playground. As nice as it was to see Graham, it’s probably best to keep the SWAT-style raids to a minimum.”

“They didn’t.”

“They’re very well trained. GPS comes off, they’re there in a flash,” Steve says.

“Oh no. There weren’t other kids there, were there?”

“No, we were clear. Max thought it was awesome.”

“He always does,” Myka sighs. “Did you tell Graham to stand down?”

“Yeah, and he told me to tell the technogeeks to stop with the false alarms.”

Myka snorts. “I’ll pass that along. How do I know you didn’t pull out the chip just to see your favorite man in uniform?”

“Watch it, Bering.”

Max has been “chipped” for a couple years now, and Myka idly wonders if her child will have a GPS chip in its swaddling blanket. Knowing Helena...

”Where’s Daddy?” Max asks.

“He’s at work with Dre. He’ll be home any minute now.”

“Okay. Play trucks with me?” Max pleads, turning his big brown eyes up at her.

“Try again,” she prompts, gathering her reading, making sure the Warehouse files cover up the material they brought home from their visit with Vanessa.

“ _Please_ play trucks?” he says obediently.

“Sure. Let’s go. I get to be the orange truck.”

“Okay,” Max agrees reluctantly. “We take turns.”

 

***

 

Helena wanders up the stairs a little after eight. Myka has already headed up for the night, but Helena was caught up with Claudia trying to get one little GPS chip to stay in a toddler’s sneaker. The option of inserting the chip directly into Macsen has been bandied about, but so far resolutely rejected. Helena herself can see both sides of the argument, and she wonders which side she’ll come down on when she holds her own child in her arms. Again.

(She also wonders what she would have decided with Christina, but the times were different, the dangers were different, and a GPS locator would not have saved her darling girl, so she finds it best not to dwell on it.)

Upstairs in the hall, Helena smirks as she hears Pete’s over-dramatic bedtime storytelling and Max’s vibrant giggles, wondering how Max ever sleeps after such adventures. She’s been charged with telling too exciting bedtime stories herself, and she’s glad she won’t be to blame this time.

When she enters their bedroom, she finds Myka already in her pajamas, tucked into the chair in the corner, knees drawn up underneath her. Helena would tease her about the early hour, but the day has been quite exhausting, and Myka has been contemplative since their visit with Dr. Calder, save for the moment she found her playing monster trucks with Max in the living room. (Her Myka has a fondness for pretending to crush toy cars.)

“Did you figure out the shoe problem?” Myka asks as Helena squeeze onto the chair next to her.

“The GPS problem or the outgrows them every two months problem? The former, yes. The latter, I’m afraid, is a necessary fact of life.”

Myka smiles. 

“Claudia and Pete just use it as an excuse to get different characters on the shoes.”

“Yes, Claudia promised me we could watch _Toy Story_ tomorrow night, so that I can be more familiar with this Buzz Lightyear fellow. She seemed rather giddy at the prospect.”

“It’s a great movie. I’m surprised you haven’t seen it yet.”

“I believe I shall have Claudia accelerate my cultural education in the coming months. The better to raise a twenty-first century American child,” Helena teases, and Myka laughs.

“Claud’ll be happy to help. You haven’t told-”

“No, not yet. Not beyond our initial conversation.”

“I wish I could’ve seen her face during that one.”

“She is still quite the prude sometimes, but she rose to the occasion admirably. Have you told Pete yet?”

“No,” Myka shakes her head. “Soon. Just not yet. So, I’ve been thinking...”

“You do that quite a bit, I hear,” Helena says, leaning close and kissing her.

After a few moments, lips slipping against each other, tongues teasing, Myka gently pushes her away, keeping a light hand at her clavicle. 

“You were distracting me.”

“So very sorry. Please continue,” Helena grins impishly, fingers sneaking underneath the soft cotton hem of Myka’s tank top.

“Well, I’ve been reading everything Vanessa gave us.”

“Yes, you’re very adorable when you’re studious.”

“Helena.”

“Sorry. Darling, we’ve already talked about this. There are a multitude of reasons it makes sense for you to carry the child, and I’m fine with it as long as you are. And we’ll choose from a line up of strapping young men to contribute, and that’ll be that.”

Helena’s hand creeps higher.

“I _know_ ,” Myka huffs. “This is something else.”

“I’m so sorry, carry on,” Helena murmurs against her neck.

Myka blows out a breath, hand steady on Helena’s shoulder, and says:

“I think we should get married.”

 

***

 

Helena freezes where she is, and Myka can feel her muscles tense under her fingers, so she lets her go, lets her escape to her own space.

“Married?”

“Yeah.” Myka’s prepared for this, so she’s not as offended by the confusion bordering on horror that crosses Helena’s face as she would have otherwise been. She’s even prepared to tease her a bit, turner her earlier words back on her. “Haven’t you ever thought about it?”

“Well... no,” Helena admits, standing. “To be quite honest, I’ve never really considered marriage for myself at all. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“I know.”

“It was tantamount to slavery. _Escaping_ marriage was one of my greatest accomplishments. Being tied to one puffed up man was- “

“I’m not a man,” Myka points out calmly as Helena paces. 

“Well, no-”

“And it’s a little different these days.”

“Obviously.”

“It’s just better. For the paperwork.”

“Well, I know I’m not one for marriage, darling, but that was quite honestly one of the _least_ romantic proposals I’ve ever heard,” Helena says indignantly.

Myka laughs, and Helena turns on her heel, giving her a glare.

“Are you going anywhere?” is all Myka asks.

“What?”

“I mean, I assumed with a baby came forever. Otherwise we need to start this conversation back at the beginning.”

“Of course,” Helena nods. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Then nothing has to change between us. I wasn’t one of those girls who dreamed of white lace and wedding cake. I don’t need that. But I did always think that when it came time to have a kid, I’d be married. Call me old-fashioned.”

Helena smiles softly at that, relaxing a bit, finally standing still.

“And it’s safer,” Myka says more quietly. “It’s one piece of paper that protects us as a family. So if we got married, it wouldn’t change anything _between_ us, but out there it would protect our relationship, and it would protect our child. So please. Think about it.”

“Myka.”

“You don’t have to answer now. If you want to-”

“Okay,” Helena interrupts, and it’s Myka’s turn to be flustered.

“Okay?”

“Well, ask _properly_ , and then, yes,” Helena says cheekily.

“Properly?” Myka laughs.

“Yes. I believe a bended knee and an actual question are in order,” Helena insists, hands on her hips.

“Seriously?”

“Yes. If we’re going to be _old-fashioned_ about it, Agent Bering, I expect you to properly ask for my hand.”

Myka wasn’t really ready for this conversation to end like this, but Helena always does keep her on her toes.

So she complies, pushing herself out of the chair and, in her pajamas, dropping to one knees. She looks up into Helena’s eyes, warm in the low lamplight, and she takes her hand.

Suddenly, this playful moment seems oh-so-serious.

“Will you marry me?”

“Well, I suppose...”

“Helena,” Myka groans.

“Yes,” Helena smiles, pulling her up off her knees and into her arms. “I’ll let you tie me down forever, Myka. And I believe I’ll even be happy about it.”

 

***

 

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

 

***

 

_Mid-May 2016_

 

It’s well into the upper 50s, flirting with 60 even, and so Pete’s been using every opportunity to take Max outside. Cabin fever is much worse at three than it was at two. And maybe Daddy suffers from a little cabin fever, too.

This afternoon, it’s a lesson in the building blocks of baseball: a little catch and a little tee-ball. (With an early August birthday, Max just makes the cut off for Univille’s tee-ball league next spring, and Pete is pretty ecstatic about it, even if it is a year away.)

So far, Max has been dutifully throwing and catching with his tiny, tiny baseball mitt, but he keeps eying that bat like he really wants to take a few swings with it. (Hopefully at the tee.)

The sun isn’t very bright or hot, but Max is decked out in a baseball cap for the occasion. He has a perfectly nice Indians hat in the house, but he’s wearing his freaking Rockies cap today because it’s his favorite. Because Aunt Mykes got it for me. Myka doesn’t even care that much about baseball. (Pete’s only mostly bitter.)

Max tosses the ball almost right to Pete, so he gives his son a cheer as he easily moves his own mitt over to catch the ball.

“Alright, dude! Can you catch it, too?”

Pete gives him a nice, soft underhand toss, but Max just doesn’t quite have the motor skills or hand-eye coordination for catching, yet.

“Hey, almost!” Pete praises as Max stoops to pick up the ball, fumbling to get it into his mitt.

“There you two are.”

Pete looks up to find Myka coming out of the back door. She and HG have been more attached at the hip than usual for the last few days, so it’s almost strange to see her alone.

“Max, look who it is.”

Myka is already halfway across the yard, scooping a giggling Max up, when he says it, and Max greets his aunt joyously.

“What are we doing?” Myka asks, Max hanging over her shoulder, fireman-style, and laughing brightly about it.

“Baseball,” Pete smiles at the two of them. “That time of year.”

“Oh yeah? Can I join?”

“Yeah!” Max says at the same time his father says: “Of course.”

The trio plays a little more bumbling catch before turning their attention to the tee. Max has a grand old time swinging furiously at the tee (and knocking the whole thing over, the ball landing just a foot or so away.) Myka doesn’t fare much better.

“I think you should stick to football. Or fencing,” Pete teases after she’s once again whacked the tee. 

“Hey! It’s a little bat and a tiny ball. It is not meant for adults.”

“Uh huh. Aunt Mykes is better at football, huh?” Pete says conspiratorially to his son, who laughs.

Flinging the bat to the side, Myka grabs Max and starts a tickle assault.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to laugh at that,” she admonishes as she sits down on the back step, pulling Max onto her knee.

“There,” Max says, taking off his tiny cap and dropping it onto her head.

“Thanks,” Myka chuckles.

“It’s a good look,” Pete notes as he sits beside them. 

“Thanks,” Myka repeats, deadpan.

“Did you tell her about your day at school?” Pete asks Max.

“Trains!”

“Trains?” Myka asks excitedly. “Did you learn about trains?”

“Yeah. Engines and cabooses. They’re _fast_.”

Max is halfway through his lecture on trains when the back door peeks open.

“Aunt Leena!” Max cries, throwing himself from Myka’s lap and bounding up the stairs. He squeezes Leena around the knees.

“Hey, you.”

“We played baseball.”

“Was it fun?”

“Aunt Leena, I’m hungry.”

“Okay,” Leena laughs, tipping his cap back. “How about a snack?”

“Please.”

“You got it. Take off your shoes and meet me in the kitchen.”

Max hurriedly does as he’s told, hightailing it into the house.

“You two coming?” Leena asks.

“I could probably eat,” Pete says, starting to stand.

“Pete, wait,” Myka says, holding out a hand to stop him. She looks to Leena. “We’ll be in in a while.”

“Everything okay?” he asks when they’re alone. In the shadow of the B&B, he pulls his sweatshirt tighter.

“Yeah,” she smiles softly. “Everything’s great.”

He knows what’s coming then. Somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach, he knows what she is going to say next.

“Oh,” is all he manages, making sure to smile. This _is_ good news, and he _is_ happy about it.

“We talked about it. A lot. And we’re going to try to have a baby,” she tells him, and there’s something tentative about it, but the joy in her smile is overwhelming. 

“Mykes, that’s great,” Pete says genuinely. “Your kid is going to be awesome, and Max is gonna love the whole big brother-ish deal. I, of course, volunteer myself to teach them every annoying trick I know.”

“Pete,” Myka protests with a laugh, shoving his shoulder. “You better be careful. I know how to retaliate.”

“Psh,” Pete waves her away. “I’m gonna teach them all to Max anyway. So, who’s gonna do it? You or her?”

Myka’s brow knits, trying to decipher the question.

“Y’know, who’s gonna do the incubating?”

Myka rolls her eyes and groans. 

“Seriously, Pete.”

“It’s a valid question! Especially ‘cause I’m your partner, and I’d need to know if-”

“Me. It’s gonna be me. It makes the most sense.”

“You _are_ over one hundred years younger.”

“Dr. Calder also said we couldn’t be sure about the effects of the bronze.”

Pete’s grin fades, and he squeezes her upper arm reassuringly. 

“Well, this way, we get a mini-Myka. Sounds perfect to me. You two are gonna be great at it, too.”

“Yeah, I hope so.”

“I know so,” Pete reiterates. “Who else have you told?”

Myka gives him a withering glare.

“Just you. _Of course_ , you’d know first.”

“Okay, okay. Just checking! You told Dr. V already, though.”

“That’s different, and you know it.”

Pete grins and slings an arm around her shoulders.

“Congrats, Mykes. I’m really happy for you.”

“There’s something else. Something _no one_ else knows.”

“Yeah?”

“I asked her to marry me.”

The baby news he had been expecting any day now. He’s grown accustomed to the idea, and his excitement earlier hadn’t been forced or faked. Apart from his brief confession to Leena, he really is happy to welcome another baby into their midst. For some reason, though, a _wedding_ hasn’t even crossed his mind. 

“She said yes,” Myka says to his stunned silence.

“Wow.”

“It’s not going to be a big deal. Very small, very informal. But, we’re getting married.”

“Wow, Mykes... Wow. I, congratulations.”

Myka ducks out from under his arm and gives him a measuring look.

“That’s a lot of wows.”

“It’s surprising!” Pete defends.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I figured a marriage proposal would be something you’d talk to me about.”

“I _am_ talking to you about it.”

“I know! I guess I meant beforehand. You’re my best friend.”

“I know that. You’re mine,” Myka says defensively.

“Sorry,” Pete deflates. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be a jerk. It’s just a lot of changes.”

“Marrying HG isn’t going to change anything, Pete.”

“The baby, though,” Pete laughs. “That’s gonna change some things.”

“Yeah, well, I expect you to change a lot of diapers, Uncle Pete.”

Pete beams. 

“Hey! I haven’t been an uncle yet! Jeannie says I took all the pressure off.”

“And you can be my best man,” Myka says with a soft smile. “If you want.”

Pete nods vigorously.

“I’m gonna be amazing at it. How do you feel about strippers?”

“Pete!”

“That’s not a ‘no’!”

Before she can fully voice her ire, the back door swings open and they have to duck.

“Tray’s gotta pee!” Max announces from the doorway as Trailer bounds out of the B&B to enjoy the backyard.

“And poop,” Max giggles as the dog goes about his business.

“Thanks for the breaking news, Maximus. Try not to decapitate Daddy next time though, huh?”

 

***

 

“Artie, do you have a minute?” Myka asks tentatively, when it looks like he might be arriving to a stopping point. Steve and Deandre are inventorying far into the Warehouse, Pete and Leena are home with Max, and she just ten minutes ago shooed Helena off to have this same conversation with Claudia down on the floor.

Helena’s version is probably going to be way more fun, but there is always the possibility that if Helena told Artie, it would actually end in murder. 

“Sure,” Artie sighs, stripping off his glasses. “What is it, Myka?”

Myka stands up from the table and walks over to his desk, nervously clicking the pen in her hand. 

“We’re getting married.”

Artie’s only response is a raised eyebrow. 

“You and Vanessa, of course, are invited, but it’s going to be really small. Just a justice of the peace. We’re still federal employees, you know, or at least I am. It would be good for pensions and stuff like that. Administratively.”

Artie scratches his nose.

“Did you just recite for me the _administrative_ reasons you’re going to marry HG Wells?” he asks, bemused. 

The slightest grin at the corners of his mouth emboldens her response.

“I didn’t think it would come as a surprise if I told you that we were going spend the rest of our lives together.”

“No,” Artie chuckles, still eying her with interest. “No, it wouldn’t.”

“So those mostly _are_ the reasons we’re doing it. For the paper and-”

She can’t look at him when she says it. She could not give a damn what her parents think, but if Artie’s old disapproval rears its head again, things will suddenly get much more tense around here. All over again.

She takes a deep breath.

“And because we’re going to have a baby. Not yet, but soon. Really soon.”

Artie lets out a surprised “Oh!” and Myka finally ventures a look at his face. His grin has blossomed into a full, fond smile. Myka presses her advantage. 

“We were hoping to get your support when we have to go before the Regents and figure out if we are going to be allowed to stay after we do. I know this is a lot, but-”

“Myka, you couldn’t find someone more devoted to you. Less occasionally hell-bent on ending the world? Maybe. But she seems to have gotten that under control. You are... good for each other. At least that’s what my modest experience tells me. Any child of yours will be very lucky.” 

Myka beams.

“Does that mean you’ll have our backs with the Regents?”

“Well, I’m not very excited to have a newborn around again, but yes. Of course. I never thought I’d see the day the Warehouse doubled as a day care,” he grumbles. “But yes. I’ll support you - Oof.”

Artie is not a hugger. Myka knows that. But right now, he’s just going to have to suck it up.

 

***

 

Claudia actually bounces into his room, dragging Leena behind her.

“Can I help you?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

“We’re having a baby!” she exclaims, delighted.

There’s an awkward beat while Steve and Leena exchange bewildered looks, and Claudia flushes, catching herself.

“I _mean_ , Myka and HG are having a baby. _And_ getting married,” she finishes off with a squeal. 

“Oh,” Steve says as Leena smiles.

“Shouldn’t you be letting them tell us this?” Leena asks, amused.

Claudia deflates a little. 

“Yeah, I guess. It’s just so exciting. I might’ve almost broken HG when she told me.”

“How did you do that?” Steve asks her, shaking his head at her manic giddiness. 

“Tackling, screeching, etcetera,” Claudia dismisses.

“So, you’re first in line for midnight feedings, right?” Steve teases her.

“Oh no. Aunt Claud is only good on a full night’s sleep,” she insists. 

“Mhmm,” Leena says knowingly.

“I hope it’s a girl. No, a boy. No. I don’t care, as long as I can corrupt them properly,” Claudia grins sinisterly. “So! What’s for dinner?”

 

***

 

“So for those of you that don’t know,” Myka announces later that night at dinner, “We’re getting married, and we’re going to try to have a baby. I wanted to tell you now because some of you have trouble keeping secrets.” 

She finishes it off, glaring knowingly at Pete and Claudia. The latter looks rather guilty, as does Max, seated between them, though probably for unrelated reasons. 

The surprise around the table is mostly feigned, except for Deandre.

“I hate being the new guy! Why does no one tell me these things?” he cries. “But congratulations, y’all, for real.”

“Yeah. Congrats,” Steve smiles warmly, and Leena echoes him, squeezing Myka’s shoulder.

“Seriously, Claud?” Myka says, exasperated. “You had like an hour.”

“Hour and a half,” Claudia eeps.

“In her defense,” HG pipes up. “I did not specifically tell her not to tell anyone.”

For Max, this is a heck of a lot of conversation _not_ about him, so he stands on his booster seat and declares:

“Where’s the ice cream?”

“Hey,” Pete says. “Drama queen. Sit your butt down and try again.”

With a huff, the almost four-year-old sits back down.

“May I have ice cream, please?”

“I must second Macsen,” HG adds.

“Both of you need to finish your dinners, first,” Myka shuts them down.

Artie sighs at the end of the table.

“The new baby is probably going to be the quietest of all of you.”

 

***

 

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

_***_

 

_July 2016_

 

Even though Myka is not home, by force of habit Helena wakes from her nightmare soundlessly. She can’t remember the dream except for the powerful uneasiness that follows her as she wakes and the way that her mournful longing for Christina hits an unusual crescendo.

Myka and Pete are away. Everyone is, actually. Only Leena and Helena have remained out of the field, and the B&B is oddly silent with only Max and the two women. 

Helena sits up and stretches, trying to shake the inquietude that is settling between her shoulder blades. She stands, unable to find solace in that bed without Myka present, and heads out into the hall.

She startles in the doorway, surprised by Max across the way. He stands silently outside his own door, pacifier in place, Pooh dangling from his fingers. In low light and with the dream chasing her out of her bed, his dark brown eyes eerily remind her of Christina’s and she shivers. Then he gives a half smile, crooked, smothered by the mustachioed pacifier, and the moment passes. He is once again simply Macsen, a boy she loves and who helped her begin to truly heal with that very sloppy grin. 

“Can’t sleep?” she asks him softly. He shakes his head, and Helena extends her hand, which he takes. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

“Mhmm,” he nods, and they start for the stairs, hands intertwined. On the stairs, Max holds his other hand out, Pooh and all, to provide extra balance. The silly old bear drags against the wall.

They wander the downstairs wordlessly, rare for both of them. He holds her hand some of the time, others just walking closer, his shoulder brushing against her thigh.

“Swing?” he asks when they pass the front door.

Helena considers for just a moment, then nods.

“Yes, that may be just the thing.”

She hands the boy his light jacket, denim with a small assortment of pins on the breast, carefully chosen by Max and Aunt Claudia. He slips his small frame into the jacket, pulling it over his thin pajamas. It may be July, but the nights are still just a little chilly in South Dakota. Using an arm hooked around her knee for balance, Max then slips his bare feet into deep purple sneakers that she has learned are called Converse.

The shoes were the source of much controversy in the spring, when his pre-school teacher commented to Pete that the color was little “girly” and wouldn’t he want more of a “boy” color to avoid any teasing. Pete had been incensed, saying that it was a “boy” color if a boy picked it, Max would wear whatever shoes he wanted, and besides, he thought purple was “damn manly. The color of kings.” Steve especially lost all composure at “damn manly”.  Pete, Steve, and Deandre all dropped Max off the next day wearing purple tee shirts. The hubbub had quickly died down, and Max had yet to report any of the threatened teasing.

Helena found the whole thing exceedingly silly, but Pete seemed rather proud of his parenting victory.

Helena throws on the nearest jacket she recognizes, and it happens to be Myka’s, a thin trench coat, and she takes a moment to savor the scent. Less worried about her own feet, she leaves them bare and leads Max out onto the front porch swing.

There, he clambers onto the hanging bench as she sits more sedately. He immediately snuggles up alongside, ducking under her arm.

The stars are endless here in what Claudia refers to as the “middle of freaking nowhere”. She does so wish that she’d been able to fly with her rocket into them, though Myka had very sternly told her that given the materials and (lack of) precautions available, she wouldn’t have even survived to exit the atmosphere. Both the materials and the precautions have improved since, but she thinks that even her Myka has a bridge too far in indulging Helena’s inner mad scientist.

Her current project may be in fact flirting with the edge of that bridge, but Helena has felt so _robbed_ of the chance to create her own aeroplane.

“Agey?”

Max can perfectly pronounce his letters “H” and “G” separately now, but he still slurs them together into his affectionate name for her. No one has dared try to correct it, and Helena is almost sure she wouldn’t allow it. Myka certainly wouldn’t.

“Yes, Macsen?”

“I had a bad dream.”

“I’m so sorry, darling. Whatever about?”

“Dragons.”

“Oh, indeed? Well, I am fairly certain that dragons do _not_ exist, except in stories. But even if they do, they could not harm you here, because you have all of us to protect you.”

“Yeah,” Max says softly.

“And besides, you are so kind and brave that I believe any dragon would much rather be your friend than hurt you.”

Max laughs brightly.

“Nuh-huh.”

“Yes, I believe it would. A dragon for a best friend would be very fun. You could do a lot of adventuring.”

After giving them a big push off the cool, dewy porch, Helena pulls her bare feet up onto the swing, tucking them on the opposite side of her from Max. With Pooh shoved safely between them, Max allows his hand to fall onto her knee, patting twice. She smiles and drops a kiss onto the top of his head.

“We should really get to bed soon, Max,” she says softly as they continue to sway.

“More minutes?” he begs, that infernal pacifier smothering his words. Myka and Pete have decided it is going away after his birthday next month. She hopes she can get an assignment in the field for the duration of that torture.

“Yes, alright. Five more.”

Helena wishes her bad dreams could be chased away as easily as a dragon-turned-friend, but since she can’t even pinpoint what, exactly, they were about, she’s left with the lingering sense of unease, faded slightly by the company of the boy next to her.

 

***

 

Jane rubs at her forehead in frustration. Gathering together the Council of Regents always gives her a headache. Today, especially, given the arguments some are currently using. They’ve been here before.

“They are not merely chess pieces of the Warehouse. They are _people_. We cannot make every decision for them, nor refuse to allow them to-”

“They are not asking for permission to have a child. They are asking if they may stay after they do. Much like Agent Lattimer,” Kosan reasons. “No one is suggesting that we can-”

“I _am_ ,” Barta insists. “I am suggesting. Not only are they integral assets of the Warehouse, HG Wells is frankly not just any other agent or any other person who can live in this world as she pleases. She gave up that right when she tried to _end_ the world.”

“Barta, please,” Jane dismisses.

“Forgive me if I fail to see anything you say as anything but biased on this issue, Jane. Does no one remember _why_ Wells tried to destroy the world at Yellowstone?”

“She was mad,” Jane defends. “She has healed and made amends.”

“She was mad with _grief_. Grief for a _child_ she lost. Shall we re-arm that bomb, then? We can and we must take whatever steps to ensure that never happens.”

“That’s enough,” Kosan says forcefully. “HG Wells is no longer our prisoner. She is a fully rehabilitated, fully reinstated, integral member of our team of agents. All of whom have voiced full-throated support for Agents Bering and Wells.”

“They don’t make the decisions,” Barta’s compatriot Lenges says. “We do.”

“No,” Kosan says stonily. “I do. I brought it to the Council’s attention in order to hear these opinions, but as in all matters pertaining to the function of the Warehouse and her agents, the decisions are mine. If you are unhappy with the decisions I am making, there are established means for removing me from that position. Until that time, I appreciate all input and will make the decision accordingly.”

Later, Jane pulls Adwin aside.

“They do not have the support to remove you,” she notes.

“Not as of now, no,” Adwin almost grins.

“I feel you leaning in the direction of supporting Myka and HG. May I ask why?”

“I’ve made no decision,” Adwin plays coy. “But if that is what I choose, it will be because I believe strongly in second chances.”

“Third,” Jane smiles wryly.

“Third, even,” Adwin allows. “Besides, don’t you believe Macsen deserves a younger sibling?”

Jane’s smile morphs into a warm beam.

“I can’t wait.”

 

***

 

“Don’t worry so much,” Artie says brusquely, though his own voice is tinged with concern. “They have no reason to say no.”

“I’m sure Mrs. F told them everything, that we’re all behind you. She’ll be back any minute now,” Pete reassures.

“She should’ve been back already,” Myka says anxiously, pacing back and forth in the main office.

“Mrs. Frederic operates on her own schedule,” HG says calmly, seated at the small table by the files.

“How come you’re not freaking out?” Pete asks her, idly tossing a baseball in the air repeatedly to expel his own nervous energy.

“I guess I’m merely accustomed to letting the Regents deliberate over my life choices,” HG answers airily.

As she spins in her pacing, Myka fixes a glare on her.

“Darling,” HG soothes. “It will come when it comes.”

The glare doesn’t falter, and Pete just breathes easily that it isn’t focused on him right now.

“May we have the room, gentlemen?”

“Yep,” Pete agrees, throwing himself from his chair and grabbing Artie by the shoulders. “When’s the last time you pulled inventory duty, Artimus?” 

Artie grumbles out a protest but still allows himself to be pulled along.

“Myka.”

“Don’t. Why aren’t you nervous?” Myka asks, arms crossed over her chest.

“I spent over a century immobilized in Bronze,” HG quips. “I can wait for anything. Infinite patience.”

A smirk touches the edges of Myka’s lips, and she says softly, wryly:

“That’s not what you said last night.”

HG quirks an eyebrow and ripostes: 

“Well played. And at work, no less.”

Myka shrugs, infinitesimally relaxing, standing still at least, even if her toe is still tapping. HG stands and steps in close, hands on Myka’s hips. 

“What weighs more heavily on you: Mrs. Frederic’s imminent return or tonight’s scheduled phone call to your parents?”

Myka narrows her eyes, protesting: “I-”

“I understand that it may be difficult to tell them that you’ve tricked me into marrying you-”

“Tricked?!” Myka objects.

“I always have been susceptible to the charms of a beautiful, brilliant woman,” HG says airily, eyes twinkling. “You started talking about the romantic wonders of paperwork and I suddenly found myself tied down for life.”

“Tied down?!” 

“When you say it _that_ way, love, it does begin to sound appealing. Remind me-”

“Agent Bering. Agent Wells.”

Myka stopped blushing about it years before, but she is still at least a little embarrassed every time Mrs. Frederic interrupts them. She takes a very small step out of HG’s arms, and waits.

“Did they say anything?” she asks, arms crossed defensively over her chest again.

“The Council deliberated and advised. Mr. Kosan has come to his decision.”

Myka waits anxiously, but HG is relaxed. The secret, of course, is that she could not care less what the Regents have to say about their life. She has no attention of allowing anyone or anything to stand in the way of whatever Myka wants.

“There are concerns, of course, and Mr. Kosan wishes to encourage Agent Wells to continue her sessions with Dr. Zhang. He sees no reason, however, that you may not both continue your tenure as Warehouse agents.”

“So that’s a yes?” Pete begs for clarification from the doorway, where he had been none-too-subtly eavesdropping.

“That is a yes, Agent Lattimer. Young Macsen need no longer be the only child at Leena’s. Speaking of, Leena has invited me to dinner, so I shall see you all there.”

She disappears again, but this time it is out the umbilicus like most people.

Pete hugs each of them in congratulations, then vacates the room under the guise of running to tell Artie.

“Are you less worried now, darling?” HG asks when they’re alone, squeezing Myka’s hand.

“No,” Myka sighs, with a half grin.

“Well, good. I’d be worried if you were.”

 

***

 

“That went better than expected,” HG notes as she flops down onto the couch next to a sleepy Max. She slings an arm around the boy’s waist and pulls him close to her side.

“I think we had them at ‘grandkid’,” Myka notes wryly as she takes the seat across from the couch, watching them fondly.

“Aren’t all parents pushovers once you mention grandkids?” Pete asks from the other side of Max.

“Ah,” Helena says from personal experience, “You’d be surprised. Mine were, shall we say, less than thrilled.”

“Right,” Pete nods, remembering the circumstances.

“How’d it go?” Claudia eagerly asks as she bounds into the living room. She spares a grin at the pj’d Max, curled into HG’s side and whispering softly with her. “Did you survive, Mykes?”

“It was fine,” Myka deflects.

“Did Papa Bering give HG a death glare?” she demands.

“Warren was perfectly well-behaved,” HG promises.

“He was good. Which was weird,” Myka notes. She meets Max’s heavily lidded eyes and crooks a finger at him. He slides from between his daddy and HG and pads over to happily sit in his Aunt Mykes’s lap. “Hey, you.”

“Heya.”

“Did you do story-time without me?”

“Nuh-huh,” Max promises with a vigorous shake of his head.

“Good. We’ll head up for that soon.”

“And then we’ll talk about everything?” Claudia asks excitedly, and HG smiles at her warmly. “Like the _wedding_?”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty beat...” Myka leads.

“Oh, _come on_. I’ve never been to a wedding. I want details!”

Myka stands, and Max holds on, legs around her waist.

“You’re getting too old for this,” Myka warns the nearly-four-year-old.

Max resolutely ignores her, instead turning his attention over her shoulder towards the couch as she walks away, and saying to its occupants:

“Kisses, later, please.”

“I believe we’ve been ordered to abstain from story-time,” HG says wryly.

“Totally dissed,” Pete concurs.

“C’mon, Mykes,” Claudia calls after her. “Just one little detail. Like, like, where! _Where_ are you getting married?”

 

***

 

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

_***_

 

_October 2016_

 

“ _No_. No, Claudia. No artifacts at my wedding.” 

“But they’re harmless little-”

“No! And if I see an artifact, I’m having your maid of honor privileges revoked.”

Claudia gives a gasp of affront and then pouts. 

“ _Fine_ ,” she acquiesces. “Fine. But friendly reminder: we’re two weeks away from the wedding and your wardrobe situation is still up in the air.”

“You’re HG’s maid of honor; shouldn’t you be worrying about what _she_ ’s wearing?” Myka points out.

“Psh,” Claudia dismisses, grabbing an apple from the bowl in the middle of the table. “HG and I already _know_ what she is wearing.”

“Claudia, this is _not_ your wedding, you know,” Leena admonishes.

Claudia shakes her head.

“HG made me maid of honor and said I could be her stand-in in all wedding planning matters.”

“That’s because HG wanted to get out of doing anything,” Myka rolls her eyes.

“Hey, I’m probably better than having her here,” Claudia defends. “She’d probably just say ‘Oh, Myka, whatever you want, darling.’”

Myka laughs at Claudia’s over-the-top HG impression.

“Okay, so we have the location squared away,” Leena begins the checklist.

“Featherhead’s finest hotel,” Claudia chimes in.

“And I’ve got food under control. I have a connection at L’Etoile,” Leena continues.

“Rehearsal, um, activities,” Myka checks off. “My sister is going to kill me.”

Claudia has a Cheshire grin. 

“All we need is, y’know, someone to _do_ the marrying.”

“An officiant,” Leena supplies.

“I believe I may be of service.”

Mrs. Frederic’s familiar voice is followed by sneakers pounding on the wooden floor and a gleeful exclamation of:

“Found you!”

“Yes, you did, Max. Now I’ll count to thirty and find you,” Mrs. Frederic says, her voice still professional but with an obvious touch of warmth.

“Okay,” four-year-old Max says brightly, sprinting off in the opposite direction.

“How can you be of service, Mrs. F... rederic?” Claudia asks.

Mrs. Frederic’s eyes smile.

“I was just at the county courthouse. I picked up a marriage license and made sure all of the paperwork was in order. If you are in need of an officiant, I volunteer my services.”

Leena beams approvingly, and Claudia gives an excited clap. 

Myka says, softly:

“You’d marry us?”

“It would be my honor. Unless you had someone else-”

“No. No one else,” Myka says quickly. “ _Thank you_.”

“You’re very welcome,” Mrs. Frederic nods. “Now, if you will excuse me, I believe my thirty is up.”

Mrs. Frederic walks out towards the foyer, but within a moment, back from the vicinity of the laundry room, they hear a triumphant:

“I believe I have found _you_ , Max.”

“Aw, man!”

The three women around the table exchange a smile, and then Leena brings them back to the agenda.

“Music.”

“Ooh, HG thinks you should let me DJ.”

Leena is skeptical. “Is this one that HG told you or one that she didn’t care about so you could pick?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

 

***

 

“ _Going to the chapel and we’re, gonna get ma-arried_ ,” Pete croons.

HG, riding shotgun, rolls her eyes. At first, she hadn’t gotten the reference, but after the last month of Pete’s relentless singing, she is _well_ -acquainted.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather sit up here, Deandre?” HG calls over her shoulder to Dre in the backseat.

“No, no. Seniority, I insist,” Dre counters, sharing her frustrated look. “Pete, you gonna sing that for the next two weeks, too?”

“Just getting everyone in the mood,” Pete defends.

“I guess it’s better than 99 Bottles of Beer,” Dre says under his breath, leaning forward but to the right, so that only HG can hear him.

“Mm,” she agrees.

“Are we doing the bachelorette parties on the same night?” Pete asks, actively ignoring their complaining. “I mean, then we’d have to split up. Do you know?”

“I hadn’t given that particular tradition very much thought,” HG answers. 

“I’ll talk to Claudia,” Pete dismisses. 

“I don’t believe we’re having one.”

“Of course you are,” Pete argues, and Dre chuckles. “Dre, tell the woman she’s having her party. It is a sacred rite, celebrating your final night out as a free woman. I promised Myka strippers.”

“Oh? Do tell,” HG says with interest.

“There is no way you’re getting away with that,” Dre bursts his bubble from the backseat.

Pete deflates, hands drumming on the steering wheel.

“Yeah. It was a nice dream,” he sighs.

“If you wanted to spend all of the last few days talking about the wedding,” Dre notes, “you should’ve stayed home. They’re actually doing wedding planning.”

“Well, as someone whose wedding it _actually_ is, I’ll ask that we _stop_ talking about it.”

“See,” Dre argues. “Even the bride doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Spoil-sports.”

“We will be living it in two very short weeks. I’m sure you will survive,” HG offers.

“Yeah,” Dre consoles. “C’mon, let’s get lunch. We’ll be in Univille before dinner, and you and the ladies can party plan to your heart’s content.”

HG chuckles. “I would ask for something a _little_ less fried for lunch this time.”

 

***

 

“Why does Claudia get to make all of your decisions?”

“Hmm?” Helena asks, oh-so-innocently.

“It’s _our_ wedding,” Myka argues. “You don’t have any opinions?”

“It’s simply not my cup of tea, darling. She was excited. Besides, I thought the _paperwork_ is what was important.”

“Helena,” Myka blows out a frustrated breath.

Helena puts down the book in her hand and looks up. They are five days away from “The Big Day”, and Myka gets daily (or more) phone calls from both her mother and her sister. Tracy, especially, it seems, is skeptical about their small ceremony. They seem to be getting to Myka, who is certainly on edge. Adding to her tension is the fact that they haven’t had a “ping” in three days, which according to Myka only increases the chance that something catastrophic will happen before they can exchange vows.

“Do you even want to get married?” Myka asks plaintively.

“Myka...”

“You should be saying yes, you know. A very excited, emphatic yes.

Myka has crossed her arms over her chest. That never ends well for Helena.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you, _yes_. I even want to be married to you. But I can’t say that I am particularly looking forward to the wedding itself.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t dream of a white dress, as a child. Nor flowers and beaming relatives. I told you; in my time, I didn’t even _believe_ in marriage. I am happy to show up and say my part and love, honor, and cherish _you_ for eternity. But getting all aflutter about the big party seems... false.”

“Oh.” Myka’s shoulders relax, hands falling to her sides.

“Before you, I was quite the rebellious, can’t-be-tied-down sort, you know,” Helena says, lifting herself off the bed and stepping in close to her Myka.

“You don’t have to remind me,” Myka says testily, avoiding her eyes.

“You’re very cute when you’re jealous of people long dead,” Helena teases. Myka smirks and begins to meet her eyes out of the corner of hers. “They were nothing compared to you, Myka. Not worthy of my time.”

“Never trust a writer with your heart. They can talk themselves out of everything,” Myka complains, leaning in, pressing her forehead to Helena’s. “Sorry if I’m being a little crazy.”

“You are not,” Helena insists. “I apologize that I’m not a more enthusiastic participant.”

“I’ll let this one slide. When the baby comes, though...” she trails off meaningfully, her threat unspoken and softened by the teasing glint in her eye.

Helena feels that familiar spike of emotion in her heart, three parts excitement, one part terror.

“I’ll do my fair share of diaper changing. And then some,” she swears.

Myka smiles, stepping further into her embrace.

“Do you know who did dream of the flowers and lace?” Helena asks into her shoulder.

“Charles?” Myka teases.

Helena laughs and then drops a kiss on her shoulder.

“Christina,” she corrects.

Myka’s arms tighten around her. Helena returns the embrace then steps out, hand seeking hers to squeeze out reassurance.

“I was quite appalled,” Helena continues. “She loved the pageantry of it all. She’d make Charles, or the butler Mr. Jarrod, be the groom, our cook was the priest, and she the bride.”

“And you?” Myka asks softly.

“Flower girl, under protest, but I could deny her nothing.”

“Maybe you can give Olivia a few tips,” Myka smiles.

Helena laughs. “I’m sure she’ll manage beautifully. Come to bed, love.”

“You’re much too smooth a talker,” Myka complains, allowing herself to be pulled into bed. “I was _just_ mad at you.”

Helena laughs and begins to toy with the bottom of Myka’s t-shirt. 

“I know, darling, but how can you stay mad at me?”

“I’m trying to figure that out.”

“Well, until you do, I think that bodes quite well for our marriage.”

 

***

 

“This is dumb,” Myka says agitatedly. 

“Hey,” Pete says firmly, taking his eye off Max as he notices Steve has him. “It’s _not_ dumb. I told you, if you want a dress, you should have a dress.”

“It’s not that big of a deal. The wedding’s small, and HG-”

“Nuh-huh. If you asked HG, she’d say the same thing. It’s your wedding day, Mykes. You said you wanted a dress as a kid-”

“I didn’t dream of a white lace dress,” Myka interrupts. 

“But you said-” Pete protests.

“I think my mom did. And I guess whenever I did take a second to imagine my wedding, I _was_ wearing a dress...”

“See!” Pete cries triumphantly. “You should have that. So no whining. No excuses. We’re buying a wedding dress.”

Myka groans. “Okay.”

Pete grins. “Okay!”

She picks a few dresses off the rack, and Pete insists on a couple others she can’t fathom wearing. By then, Steve has wandered back over to them, Max on his shoulders.

“Ready to see Aunt Mykes wear a pretty dress?” Pete asks his son.

“Oh boy, I am,” Steve says dryly, though he passes a warm smile at Myka as Max plays with his ears.

This is is her entourage. _This_ is who she is shopping for a wedding dress with. It’s kind of perfect.

Lucille, the kindly woman who owns the shop, is probably around 80 and 5’2”, 100 lbs, if that. But she insists on wrangling the dresses into the dressing room herself, cheerfully chatting about the wedding.

Wedding questions make Myka nervous; she’s painfully aware of the fact that they’re in _South Dakota_.

“And are either of you handsome gentlemen the lucky groom?” Lucille asks sweetly.

“No!” Pete and Steve exclaim with equal fervor.

“You don’t have to be so horrified about it,” Myka teases them.

“Oh, of course. Sorry,” Lucille says. “I should have know. I think it is just so wonderful that you two can raise a family these days. That little boy must love having his daddies around.”

Myka lets out an unexpected snort of laughter as Pete’s and Steve’s mouths hang wide open. They are both on the little couch set up for viewings, Max seated very politely between them, oblivious.

“We’re _all_ just friends,” Myka corrects gently. “Max is Pete’s son.”

“Oh,” Lucille pulls a bit of a frown. “I’m just so excited about all these new weddings. I think we finally got it right on this whole marriage silliness.”

“Then you’ll like this wedding,” Pete grins. “There’s two brides.”

Lucille beams brightly.

“Very nice! Is your lovely bride going to be coming in for her own dress?”

“I have no idea,” Myka admits honestly, but she can’t imagine it.

“Well, your gentlemen are eagerly awaiting you in those dresses,” Lucille shoos her towards the dressing room. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

 

***

 

The “gentlemen” appropriately ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ over a parade of dresses, but Myka is not particularly impressed by any of them yet. Neither is Lucille, who stares at her appraisingly in this last dress, then shakes her head.

“No, we need another direction. Give me a moment, yes?”

Myka nods as Lucille disappears into the vast maze of dresses that dominates most the tiny store.

It doesn’t help that Myka feels pretty ridiculous with this whole thing, and would’ve call it all off if it weren’t for her entourage’s enthusiasm (Lucille included). She may have assumed the role of model in pursuit of Man Ray’s camera all those years ago, but she still feels like an impostor in these beautiful dresses, just as she had then. It may not be a runway, but the raised dais surround by three mirrors an a couch stills puts her squarely as the center of attention. 

“I think Max and I better take a walk,” Steve announces, standing up and stretching. “He seems a little antsy.”

Max actually has been very calm, playing with his daddy’s phone and chatting happily with all involved. 

“Max, huh?” Myka asks, tugging gently at the scratchy fabric of this recent “definitely no” she is stuck in while Lucille searches her collection.

“Sorry, Myka,” Steve grins sheepishly. “I can only take so many dresses. We’ll be back soon; we wanna see The One.”

“Maximus,” Pete gets the four-year-old’s attention. “Phone, please. Take Uncle Steve for a walk.”

“Daddy...” Max begins to whine.

“Nuh-huh. You’ve had enough,” Pete insists, hand out.

Max gives up the fight (and the phone) and pushes himself off the couch.

“Bye, Aunt Mykes.”

“You two look out for each other,” Pete calls playfully after them. “Stay out of trouble.”

The bell on the door jingles as Max and Steve leave.

“Maybe we should just go,” Myka sighs.

“Hey, no. Lucille’s got your back. We’re gonna find you that dress,” Pete insists firmly.

“When did you get so gung-ho about this wedding?” Myka asks, and Pete’s ever-chipper demeanor slips away. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean-”

“No. You’re right. I’m sorry I wasn’t more excited when you told me.” He sighs. “It’s just... Things were the way they were for awhile, right? It felt like everyone had just gotten back into a rhythm after, you know, Max, and now everything’s changing so quickly.”

“Not that quickly,” Myka says softly.

“It felt like it at the time,” Pete admits. “And I’m, don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but I’m- jealous.”

“Jealous?” Myka repeats incredulously, brow furrowing.

“I don’t know!” Pete defends. “I just- I love Max. More than anything. And I wouldn’t trade him for the world. But that’s not how I expected to be a dad. I expected to find a woman I loved and ask her to marry me and decide to have a family together. I guess I’ve already done that first part before and screwed it up, so... it makes sense that I’d screw up the kid part, too.”

“Hey,” Myka says firmly. “You’re _not_ screwing anything up. You’re an amazing dad. The world doesn’t always work how we want. But just because you’re doing it in a different order doesn’t mean you can’t still have everything you want.”

Pete gives her a smile, boy-ish as usual but with a soft vulnerability instead of the normal exuberant charm.

“Thanks. You’re right,” he says. And he might be brushing her off, but she thinks that some of it, at least, has sunk in. “I am excited for you, you know.”

“I know,” she promises.

“You’re gonna be awesome parents.”

Myka smiles. A little lost in all her wedding planning and family coming stress has been the steady progress made on the baby front: doctors’ appointments come and gone, a donor picked from the random line-up, a timeline in place.

“Thanks.”

“Also, will you punch me if I ask your hot wife to dance?”

“No,” Myka laughs, glad to see the playfulness back in Pete’s face. “But watch you hands, Lattimer.”

Pete grins.

“I will. Now, partner, I think it’s time to get serious about finding you a wedding dress.”

 

***

 

tbc


	9. Chapter 9

***

 

_“Mummy, do I make a pretty bride?”_

_“Utterly lovely, my Christina.”_

_Christina gives a happy twirl, the linens draped around her fluttering._

_Helena used to discourage and disapprove of this behavior, but this isn’t real. Christina is dead, and this is a dream, and it’s the closest she’ll ever get to her again._

_“Will you wear a dress, Mummy? When you get married.”_

_“I will not.”_

_“And Myka?”_

_That’s the confirmation that this is a full dream, not a memory. Only in the rarest of dreams is Christina aware of Helena’s new life. Hearing Myka’s name from Christina’s lips is bittersweet._

_“I don’t know, darling.”_

_“Will I have a little brother or a little sister?” Christina asks again, still twirling._

_“I do not know that either, love.”_

_“Mhmm,” Christina muses. “I’d love them all the same. A little baby to hug and squeeze.”_

_A smile tugs at Helena’s mouth, but she knows she’ll never really see that._

_“I’d’ve liked a wedding, Mummy. All the flowers and dancing.”_

_“I know. You married your uncle several times.”_

_“He always was a handsome groom, but a terrible dancer,” Christina sighs wistfully. “If you don’t wear a dress, Mummy, does that make you the groom?”_

_“Perhaps.”_

_“Shall you be as handsome as Uncle?”_

_“Handsomer, I dare say,” Helena manages to tease._

_Christina giggles, dropping her sheet and approaching her mother. She smiles and reaches for Helena’s face, cupping it lightly._

_“Yes, much.”_

_“Thank you,” Helena tries to say lightly, but her heart is in her throat at her daughter’s touch, eyes drifting closed._

_“I wish I could see it,” Christina says sadly._

_The touch disappears, and Helena’s eyes pop open. Christina is gone, and her nursery fades into the ceiling of a bedroom in South Dakota._

Helena feels a sob bubble up within her chest, but she fights it back. Myka is asleep beside her, and there’s been precious little of that for her, just two days before the wedding. They leave for Featherhead in the morning, somewhere close enough to not put them out too much, but far enough to hopefully shield Myka’s family from the Warehouse and its “crazy”. 

This is in fact, at Pete and Claudia’s insistence, their last shared night together before the wedding. Helena is not quite sure how she’ll sleep until then.

She remembers the dream this time, and the disquiet remains. 

She reaches over and pulls Myka closer to her. Although still asleep, Myka complies, letting Helena easily wrap around her. Helena kisses her shoulder and feels herself relax the slightest bit. 

Sleep, she hopes, will return soon.

 

***

 

“I’m gonna be at the kids’ table,” Deandre says as he waits impatiently on a couch in the lobby for his marching orders.

He looks a little haggard; he and Steve just returned from an artifact retrieval. The _actual_ Rosetta Stone, in fact, and Myka had desperately wanted to be the one to bring it in. The wedding, of course, precluded that, and she has been a tad grumpy about it. After stashing it in the Dark Vault and picking up their suits (and Steve’s date, Eliot Graham, the head of Max’s security team), they quickly made their way to the hotel in Featherhead, arriving with just enough time to spare before the rehearsal dinner.

“You will not be at the kids’ table,” HG assures him as his leg bounces, standing beside him.

“I’m the New Guy. That’s my thing.”

HG chuckles; she likes Dre. He’s extremely talented and intuitive, but not nearly as serious as Myka and Steve can be, nor as manically silly as Pete and Claudia. His more casual charm is refreshing. 

“You will _not_ be at the children’s table,” HG repeats, “Even though you are rather acting like you should be.”

He takes her teasing with a grin and retaliates: “How would _you_ know? You didn’t even plan any of it.”

“There aren’t any tables, tonight.”

Dre laughs, then looks at his watch. “Where is everyone? I, for one, am excited to meet your in-laws.”

“That does indeed make one of us.”

Dre guffaws.

“We’re doing what?!” Tracy demands as the gaggle of Berings enters the lobby.

Warren looks bewildered, and Jeannie (with her infant granddaughter on her hip) looks simply bemused.

“You heard me the first time,” Myka says to her dramatic sister. Olivia, about three-and-a-half now, clings to Myka’s hand and flutters about. The girl beams when she sees HG, tugging for Myka’s attention. Myka follows the pointing and smiles, whispering in Olivia’s ear.

“Helena!” Olivia cries as she sets off at a run.

HG gives young Olivia a squeeze as Tracy complains:

“It’s your _wedding_.”

“Rehearsal dinner, actually,” Myka counters.

HG meets her eyes and gives her an encouraging grin before returning her attention to Olivia and saying:

“This is my friend Deandre. He is rather fun.”

Olivia, a little shy, clings to HG’s knee as she accepts Dre’s extended hand and says a soft hello.

“Wedding, rehearsal, whatever,” Tracy continues. “We can’t go _bowling_.”

Dre gives HG a meaningful look.

“Nothing conventional with you two, is there?” he asks.

“Isn’t getting _married_ conventional enough?” she counters.

“Don’t knock bowling,” Pete argue as he, Max, Steve, and Graham join the group. “It’s Max’s favorite thing to do. In his defense, there’s not much to do in Univille.”

“Claudia and Leena have gone on ahead,” Helena tells her bride, now that they’re all in one place, taking up much of the left side of the lobby. “Artie and Vanessa will meet us there.”

Her in-laws-to-be greet her with varying enthusiasm, though none rival Olivia’s excitement. Jeannie, as always, is warm and inviting, and HG takes a moment to say hello to seven-month-old Chloe, smiling softly at her. Chloe’s gummy smile steels her for a firm handshake from Warren and Tracy’s insistence on a hug. Kevin, Tracy’s husband, a rather bland man if she does say so herself but not at all offensive otherwise, offers a hand and a commiserating nod.

Max has wandered over now, and he seems a bit put out that another child has laid a claim to his Agey.

“Hi,” he says, a puzzled look on his face.

“Macsen, this is Olivia, Aunt Myka’s niece. Olivia, this is Max.”

“Hi,” Olivia greets, more sincerely than Max, but still very shy.

“You’re just worried I’m going to beat you,” Myka defuses Tracy’s ire and moves in close to HG and the two children.

“You ready for this?” Myka asks her softly as Pete introduces Steve, Dre, and Graham to the Berings. 

“I believe, darling, that it is I who should be asking you that question. I’ve won six out of the last seven.”

Myka laughs and beams at her.

“I think it’s bad luck to beat your bride in bowling the night before the wedding.”

“Then we shall have to pray for a tie.”

 

***

 

Myka knows that pizza and beer aren’t exactly Helena’s idea of a wonderful dinner, but she’d jumped at the chance for a more informal “rehearsal” dinner when Myka suggested it. Also, surprisingly enough, HG Wells _loves_ bowling. 

“Isn’t it a wonderful invention?” she is currently asking her rapt audience of Max, Olivia, Steve, and Graham. She wrinkles her nose in delight as the ball rattles around in the retriever and then bursts onto the rack. She has an arm around Max and Olivia on either side of her, holding their hands out of the way. About a half an hour into the evening, the children realized it’s way more fun to play with each other than to compete for the adults’ attention, especially since there are more than enough adults and their attention to go around.

The kids giggle as the ball noisily clanks into place, and Myka knows her own grin is probably _completely_ dopey.

“It’s been nice to finally meet Max.”

Myka jumps, not expecting her mother behind her, since she’s been gazing moonily at her fiancée for the last few minutes.

“I can’t believe you haven’t yet,” Myka smiles.

“I didn’t realize you were both so involved in raising him,” Jeannie says lightly. 

Helena is now helping Max with his very light bowling ball while Pete cheers him on loudly.

“Oh, you know, we all help out,” Myka demurs.

Max gives his ball a cringe-inducing launch down the lane, anxiously watching the ball’s progress. When the ball makes contact with a couple pins before spinning out into the gutter, Helena sweeps Max up in celebration, quickly depositing the laughing boy in a waiting Leena’s lap. There, he immediately begins to recount his victory to his Aunt Leena. 

“Tracy told me about Helena’s daughter,” her mother says softly.

Myka looks back at her sharply.

“Did she?”

“I won’t make a to-do of it,” Jeannie chides. “I’m very sorry for her loss. It takes a lot of bravery to move on from that. To... try again. I don’t know if I...”

Her mother trails off emotionally, and Myka squeezes her shoulder. She’s never really thought about her mother that way before, as _a_ mother and not _her_ mother, the quiet, steady counterpart to her father’s many moods, always offering safe harbor but never really intervening. 

Myka isn’t quite sure what to say to her, but Max and Olivia save her, running over with cries of “Grandma!” and “Aunt Mykes!”

“Agey got a strike!” Max tells her.

“Show off,” Myka calls over to where Helena is celebrating with Claudia.

“It’s simply physics, darling.”

“It’s simply _luck_ ,” Myka counters.

Helena shrugs and grins impishly: “Your turn.”

 

***

 

Claudia freezes as she approaches the corner, hearing familiar voices. Great, the _last_ people she wanted to bother with this, and she can’t even tease them about their own mushy sneaking around when they should be in their own, _separate_ hotel rooms.

“Claud?” comes Myka’s concerned voice as she and HG turn the corner.

Dammit. She’s been discovered.

“Is everything alright?” Myka asks as HG gives her a curious once over. Dammit.

“Oh yeah, everything’s _great_ ,” Claudia says hastily.

“That’s your ‘hide an artifact from Artie’ voice,” Myka accuses, and HG nods. “What did you do?”

“Nothing! Nothing. What are you talking about, you silly brides? Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep? Big day tomorrow and-”

“Claudia,” HG says warmly. “What did you do?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you, but you have to protect me from _her_ ,” Claudia points with her left hand to Myka, her right hand still firmly clasped around the object in the middle of her chest, at the end of a chain. 

“Protect you-” HG starts, confused.

“No!” Myka says with realization. “Claudia, you _didn’t_. I told you, no artifacts!”

“It was a surprise! And you can’t rob me of maid of honor status _after_ I’d already walked down the aisle. It was gonna be a pretty surprise!”

“Claudia,” HG clucks reproachfully, though she’s got a grin spreading across her face. “What have you done?”

Reluctantly, feeling Myka’s glare on her the whole time, Claudia removes her hand from the end of the chain. As she does so, an explosion of petals bursts from the sapphire brooch.

“It won’t come off,” she admits. “I was testing it, down in the event room, and, uh, yeah, not coming off. Works well, though.”

“What is it?” HG asks curiously.

“You can ask questions later,” Myka rolls her eyes. “I’ve got a few neutralizer bags in my room.”

“Not the neutralizing kind,” Claudia grins sheepishly. “Tried that. I was just sneaking on up to my laptop to figure out what _does_ get it off. But, uh. It’s your something old. And your something blue. And your something borrowed... from the Warehouse. With dubious permission.”

“Stolen. Our something _stolen_ ,” Myka corrects.

“Seems rather appropriate,” HG smirks, which makes Myka’s glare turn to her.

“I told you this would happen,” she accuses.

“Myka, this is hardly a disaster. At the very worst, Claudia will have a very exciting accessory for the wedding.”

“Yay.”

“We’ll help you get to the bottom of this, Claudia,” HG offers.

“Helena...”

“One last time before we’re an old married couple? Solving puzzles, saving the day?”

“We’re still going to do that after we’re married,” Myka laughs.

“Oh, I know, darling, but... Indulge me?”

Claudia, still emitting petals, groans. “Oh come on, can we just make me stop flowering?”

HG smiles, “Saving dear Claudia together: it’ll be just like our first.”

“Gross,” Claudia complains, but even through the haze of blossoms, she’s grinning. 

 

***

 

“You seriously didn’t read about it before grabbing it?” Myka asks Claudia, both she and HG leaning over Claudia’s shoulder to try to read the laptop screen, while simultaneously dodging orange blossom petals.

“Wedding artifact. Not lethal, not dangerous. Lots of pretty flowers. That’s all I needed.”

“If you’re to be caretaker, Claudia, you should probably be a little more careful with-” HG starts.

“I know, I know,” Claudia interjects, fingers flying. She gets a few petals in her mouth and spits them out. “You know, Victoria and Albert had a pretty epic love. The rule the world, kind.”

“Mhmm,” HG chuckles.

“I’m just saying. Seemed appropriate.” 

Myka breathes out a soft snort and runs a hand over Claudia’s hair. The entry for the artifact settles onto the screen, and Myka reads aloud:

“A sapphire brooch given to Queen Victoria by Prince Albert to wear at their wedding. Worn throughout the service, the brooch became imbued with their love, and would thereafter begin to sprinkle the room with orange blossom petals whenever wedding music is played. Orange blossoms were a central theme of the wedding, worn in Victoria’s hair and corsage and decorating the aisle.”

“Okay. That was a fun history lesson. Know what that didn’t include?” Claudia asks rhetorically. “Why it won’t come off now, and how to make it stop.”

“Claudia, calm down,” HG says gently. “We’ll figure it out. Now, you’ve digitized much of the surviving Warehouse 12 records, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you access them from here?” Myka asks.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. You go take a shower and relax. HG will look through the records. I’ll look into the history a little more, see if I can find a clue.”

 

***

 

Claudia takes a while in the shower. Her clothes come off, but the chain the brooch now hands on refuses to follow, and petals continue to swirl. While the collection of wet petals at her feet is less than ideal (and will be difficult to explain to hotel management), the combination of hot water and the orange blossoms has created a soothing aroma that is not yet sickly sweet. An upside of the downside, if you will.

When she emerges from the bathroom in her cloud of petals, HG and Myka are curled up with her laptop on the bed, Myka’s head sweetly on HG’s shoulder. She almost feels bad that she’s going to be the one to separate them tonight. Almost. But they robbed her and Pete of bachelorette parties, and so she is going to insist on _some_ traditions being followed. 

“We figured it out,” Myka tells her. “We think.”

“No way to know for sure until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!”

“The agents in Warehouse 12 found the artifact when it was dormant, shortly before the move to Warehouse 13,” HG tells her. “But they were made aware of the brooch when it began to produce flowers at a society wedding in London. They could not test the theory, so it was not entered into the official file, but they presumed it was ended once the wedding was complete.”

“So it’s gonna keep raining down on me until tomorrow?!” Claudia cries.

“Most likely.”

“But then it will stop?”

“Probably,” Myka chimes in.

“Okay,” Claudia sighs. “That’s going to be awkward to explain to the Berings, but I’ll survive.”

“I’m sure you will, Claud. Were you playing music when you were testing it?”

“I hummed a little Pachabel,” Claudia shrugs. “Wait. You said when the _wedding_ ended, right?”

“Yeah...” Myka frowns at the request for clarification.

“Not marriage consummated? Because I _love_ you guys, but you’re paying for my therapy if I know the _exact_ moment you get it on on your wedding night. _No, thank you_.”

 

***

 

“Anybody want to explain to me why the maid of honor is, y’know, flowering?” Pete asks, leaning against the wall of the hotel room, tossing Max’s ring bearer pillow in the air and then catching it.

“Please tell me there aren’t any rings on that, yet,” Myka sighs, turning to look at him over her shoulder. He grins: she looks beautiful, all dolled up, of course.

“Relax,” he smiles, showing her the empty pillow. “No rings until right before he sprints down the aisle. Your ring and its dumb inscription are safe.”

“It’s not dumb,” Myka protests, turning away from the hotel room’s mirror and eying the bed like she’s trying to figure out if she can sit down without wrinkling her dress.

“‘ _Keep it. You can owe me.’_ Real romantic, Mykes.”

She gives him a soft smile.

“So. About Claudia and the-” He gives a spirit fingers gesture.

“Artifact miscalculation,” Myka says. “It’ll clear up soon.”

“And who’s explaining _that one_ to the Berings?” Pete asks.

“I think she managed to convince Leena to.”

“Nicely done.”

“Aunt Mykes?” Max speaks up, tearing his attention away from the TV, his feet kicking against the side of the bed, where she’s finally managed a mostly graceful seat beside him. He’s looking pretty snazzy himself in his black suit, purple bow tie and suspenders, and purple Converse high-tops. His dad wishes he were rocking the sneaks, too, but he’s at least glad his matching tie is long. He’s never really pulled off the bow tie the way Max can.

“What’s up, Max?” Myka asks, running a hand over his neatly combed hair.

“Is it _time_ yet?”

“Soon, buddy, soon,” Myka laughs.

Pete, who’s taken a seat on the other side of Max asks:

“Did you tell Aunt Myka how beautiful she looks?”

“Yes,” Max sighs, and Myka laughs again.

“He’s a hard crowd to impress.”

There’s a knock at the door, and Myka, wedding dress and all, somehow beats Pete to her feet and heads to answer it.

“I feel like there is a rule against brides answering their own doors,” Pete complains.

“If there is, it’s a dumb rule,” Myka calls back, opening the door to find a beaming Vanessa and a flustered Artie.

“Oh, Myka, you look absolutely stunning,” Vanessa says.

Beside her, Artie looks a little taken aback at the sight of his agent in a wedding gown, curls pinned back, flowers in her hair. Then he recovers and offers a soft smile.

“Are you ready?” Vanessa asks. 

“Actually, I thought Max and I’d stay up here and watch another episode of Scooby Doo.”

Artie’s face flashes with panic, but Vanessa just laughs warmly.

“Irene, Adwin, and Jane just arrived. We’ve been sent to get you. Everyone else is in place.”

“And I’d like to have my agent stop flowering, at some point,” Artie grumbles.

Max appears behind Myka, pushing around the layers of fabric of her gown, Pete hurrying behind him, straightening the collar of his son’s jacket.

“Hi, Dr. V,” the boy says brightly.

“Hello, Max. You look handsome.”

Max smiles. “Can I walk with you and Grandpa Artie?”

“Oh, I’d love that,” Vanessa says as she gets a nod from Pete.

Max inserts himself between Artie and Vanessa, taking the hand of each and pulling them along.

Out in the hallway now, Pete pulls the door shut behind him, turning to his partner. He takes in the layers of satin flowing down around her to the floor, the slips of lace approximating sleeves falling off her shoulder.

“Lucille was right,” he beams approvingly. “It’s the perfect dress.”

“I still think it’s a little girly,” Myka protests weakly, but he shakes his head insistently.

“You’re gonna blow her away.”

Pete remembers being nervous before his wedding. Really nervous, even though he loved Amanda, even though he was sure, but Myka...

“You don’t look nervous.”

“Nervous?” Myka smiles at him, cocking her head.

“Yeah. People getting married usually are a little nervous.”

Her smile widens.

“It’s just a party and a piece of paper, Pete. The hard part is everything that came first, and everything that comes after.”

 

***

 

tbc


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: I’m so sorry. I’ll just say that July was a pretty terrible month, and August was spent recovering from it. I think the mojo is back, though, so I hope you will stick with me! Also, Myka and HG in this chapter are inspired by webgeekist’s AMAZING art, found here, so thanks for the inspiration!! Beta’d by my favorite weirdy reindeer panda giraffe, roughian. And a special thanks to cacheese for listening to two months of “MY MUSE IS DEAD AND I HAVE TO WRITE A WEDDING” whining.

 

 

 

***

 

 

By the time she offers HG her arm, Claudia is mostly used to both the constant flow and smell of orange blossoms. That doesn’t mean she isn’t eager to see these two crazy kids get hitched, though. 

“No peeking,” she admonishes as HG, in her smart suit and undone tie, takes her arm with an eye roll. 

Pete and Myka follow behind them, Claudia knows, just as Max and Olivia sweetly bumble down the aisle in front of them, Olivia throwing petals of her own volition and Max balancing two _very_ tightly secured wedding bands on a pillow.

Given the small size of the party, HG’s lack of living relatives, and Myka’s uneasy (if somewhat healed) relationship with her father, Myka and HG elected to walk down the aisle with their best man and maid of honor. If Mr. Bering was upset or objected, he isn’t showing it now, and Claudia thankfully wasn’t on that side of the planning.

The aisle is short, given that there are all of thirteen guests that aren’t participating, and one is an infant. The Berings have front row seats on one side, with a seat saved for Olivia. Artie, Vanessa, and Leena are on the other. At the end of the aisle, in all her glory, is the perfectly coiffed, impeccably suited, indomitable Irene Frederic. On the breast of her tweed jacket is pinned a single purple orchid, matching the one pinned on Claudia’s own black tuxedo jacket, and similar in color to the boys’ ties and both Olivia and Claudia’s dresses.

She’s waiting until after they’re _actually_ married to ask HG and Myka if they know the “color” of their wedding is the color of goo. She can’t wait to see the looks on their faces.

Claudia sneaks a glance over her shoulder and nearly squeals with glee. Pete, Myka on his arm, gives her a thumbs up, and Myka rolls her eyes and shoos her on.

“Oh, _you_ get to peek,” HG murmurs softly, and Claudia just keeps grinning.

“She looks beautiful,” is all Claudia says as they reach the end of the aisle and Mrs. Frederic ( _Mrs. Frederic!_ ) gives them a grin.

Claudia falls into place and turns to get a good look at HG’s face as she gets _her_ first look at Myka in that gown. She stifles another squeal of delight.

 

***

 

She's sure that Irene is saying all manner of lovely and stirring words, but Helena                  honestly notices none of them. All of her is focused on Myka.

Myka, who beams at her, flower in her hair and a satin dress that is beyond stunning. She's not sure what she expected Myka to wear. She herself has been opposed to dresses ever since she spent the majority of her life being forced to wear one. But this dress, with the way it clings at the bodice, then fall away at the hip, pooling on the floor, the way Myka stands before her, so sure and bright...

Helena loves this dress.

And she's still not sure how she feels about marriage, and especially _weddings_ , in the abstract, but she would not trade _this_ moment for anything in the world.

 

***

 

"Goin' to the chapel, and we're-"

"Oh my god, Pete. Stop singing that song," Claudia groans. "They already _are_ married."

The wedding party is breaking up, if only to move into the next room over for the small reception. Claudia stopped flowering when Myka and HG sealed the deal with a kiss, and she's happy to escort the bubbly Lattimer boys with only the stray petals remaining on the lapels of her jacket. Behind them, Myka and HG linger, hand-in-hand.

"Grandma!"

Max greets Jane Lattimer with exuberance. Jane Lattimer greets the best man and maid of honor with a four-year-old hugging her leg. 

"Max, you were superb," Jane praises, smoothing Max's hair back into place. It had been neatly tamed before the service, but like most kids, Max never keeps it that way.

Max nods in agreement with his grandmother's assessment of his performance.

"It was a beautiful ceremony," Jane says to the adults. 

"They're so cute," Claudia agrees with a brief look over her shoulder. 

"Aunt Claud cried," Max supplies, earning a guffaw from his father. 

"I did not!" Claudia flushes.

"Uh huh," Max insists, though he is quickly distracted when Pete lifts him up onto his shoulders, sniffing loudly. 

"Do you smell that, Maximus?" he asks. 

"Yum!" Max agrees.

"I think it's calling our names."

Jane shakes her head as the two-headed bottomless pit that is her family takes off for the reception at a jog.

"I'm not quite sure where Leena finds enough food to keep them fed," she comments to the young caretaker-to-be, who is admittedly still nervous to be left alone with the bearer of the Rammadi shackle. 

"I have my ways," Leena saves Claudia, appearing from the direction Pete and Max just made for. "It's not the meals I have trouble with, actually. Between those two and Artie, cookies disappear at an alarming rate." She slips an arm through Claudia's and then calls over her shoulder to the newlyweds: "Dinner is ready whenever you are."

"We'll find a way to hold off Pete and Max," Claudia teases. 

 

***

 

They've forgone most of the reception traditions: no grand announcement (everyone knows them anyway), no father-daughter dance (for obvious reasons), and certainly no "first dance" (there's enough attention on them). There are no "toasts" scheduled for the evening, but Myka is not naïve enough to think their scheming best man and maid of honor will let them get away scot-free.

After dinner, then, they have Claudia simply cue up the music and encourage everyone to start dancing. And so it is that Myka finds herself sitting out the first dance at her own wedding reception. 

There's nowhere else she'd rather be.

She slips the ring from her finger again, beaming as she catches a few words of the inscription in the blinking candlelight of the table.

"Put that back on," Helena admonishes. "You'll lose it."

Myka laughs and meets her eyes.

"You're pretty protective of a silly old tradition."

"This tradition I like. Tells everyone you're taken."

"Who's the jealous one now?"

Helena huffs lightly and, still grinning, Myka ignores her, reading the inscription: _...and those that carry us forward, are dreams._  

"It says something that you quoted yourself."

"You quoted me as well," Helena twinkles back at her. Myka rolls her eyes. Helena continues: "The whole line would not fit."

" _We all have our time machines, don't we. Those that take us back are memories... and those that carry us forward, are dreams,_ " Myka completes the quotation. She's only read _The Time Machine_ a thousand times. 

"It seemed appropriate," Helena says cheekily, stealing the ring from Myka's right hand and sliding it back in it proper place on her left ring finger. Taking a hold of her hand, Helena pulls Myka to her feet, allowing space for the swish of her gown. 

"Now that we've properly thumbed our nose at tradition, it's time to dance, and I'd like to be your first before Max can steal the honor away from me."

 

***

 

Pete's dogs are barking, and he once again wishes that he could've gone the Converse route like Max. Dress shoes just aren't designed for the amount of rug-cutting Pete prefers.

He slumps into a seat at one of the abandoned tables at the edge of the dance floor, watching as the rest continue to dance to Claudia's music choices. Myka shares a dance with her nieces, baby Chloe on her hip, Olivia spinning at her feet. Max has charmed Dr. V into yet another dance over Grandpa Artie's playful objection. Mr. Kosen gives Mrs. Bering a spin, Leena cons Artie into joining her, Dre swings Pete's mom around, and... yep, there's HG making Claudia laugh and blush as they dance.

It's damn good party.

"I didn't think you'd be such a lightweight," comes Myka's teasing voice. The song has changed, and her nieces have been returned to their parents.

"My feet hurt!" Pete pouts.

"Suck it up," Myka extends a hand.

"Agent Bering, are you asking me to dance?"

Myka just raises her eyebrows and nods towards her hand, which he takes.

"Or is that, _Mrs. Wells_ , are you asking me to dance, now?" he teases, and Myka snorts as she rests her hand on his shoulder.

"No, we're keeping our names."

"Oh good. That could be confusing." In the middle of giving her a twirl, Pete realizes: "Hey! What about the baby?"

Myka finishes ducking under his arm and says: "What _about_ the baby?"

"Whose last name will the baby have?"

"Both," Myka shrugs.

"Okay, but whose _first_?"

Myka grins. "Now _that_ is the question."

He's surprised at how easily they talk about "the baby" these days. Even he has become more comfortable with the idea, though all this happy planning makes him think about all the lead up he missed with Max. He missed every single thing in his son's life before he arrived as a three-week-old surprise, and he can't ever get it back.

He glances over to where Max is goofily jumping around with his grandma then, and the regret is shoved aside by pride and joy.

"May I propose a trade?" HG interrupts, having made her way across the dance floor with Claudia. 

"Oh, I dunno, HG. Myka just got me: she might not want to give me up for Claudia yet."

Myka rolls her eyes like she always does, giving his shoulder a squeeze before stepping away from him.

"Newlyweds," Claudia shakes her head as the two dance off. "Ugh. I haven't danced this much since I thought trying on Ginger Rogers's shoes was a good idea. I'm gonna sleep well tonight."

"So will I. As long as Max doesn't pull his Pele routine."

 

***

 

The dancing has winded down, over half of the party has retired upstairs (including all the Berings), but the sturdy few remain, Max stubbornly among them.

He has somehow found his way onto Myka's lap, though only her firm grip around his waist keeps him from sliding down the satin. HG sits in the chair pulled up close to theirs, completing the circle formed by Claudia, Leena, Dre, and Pete.

"Aren't you tired, buddy?" Myka coaxes.

"No," Max insists, shaking his head.

"That makes one of us," Claudia yawns, leaning against Leena's shoulder.

"I don't think I can walk upstairs," Pete says. "Dre, you're gonna have to carry me."

"I got ya," Dre agrees, making Max giggle.

"Seniority rocks," Pete exchanges a sleepy high five with Claudia.

"We need a new ‘New Guy’," Dre muses.

"Or for the current New Guy to just grow a pair," Myka comments.

This gets laughs from around the circle, joined belatedly by Max, who laughs only because his adults are. 

"Fair enough," Dre grins at her. "How about I make a deal with the Lattimer men?" 

"We are up for deals," Pete agrees. 

"I say the three of us head up now, and I'll carry _Max_ , and I'll do it Superman-style if he'll come up to bed now."

"That sounds like a good deal, Macsen," HG encourages. 

"I'm in," Pete announces.

Max seems to consider it, then sets Aunt Myka's bouquet back on the table and acquiesces.

"Okay."

"Great," Pete pushes himself to his feet, and Dre follows suit. Pete turns to Max: "Kiss all your aunts." He gestures around the what's left of the circle he just broke. 

"Night, love you," Max says, reaching back to kiss Myka's cheek. He leans over to HG and repeats the process: "Night, love you." He slides down Myka's lap with a grin and heads over to Leena and Claudia, a hug and a kiss and a "Night, love you."

Getting to their feet, too, all of his aunts return the sentiments, and Max practically leaps into Deandre's arms, already throwing his own arms out in front of him. While Dre gives him a few practice swoops, Pete does the circle in reverse, coming to HG and Myka last. 

"Congratulations," he beams at them, pulling them into a joint hug. 

"Thanks. And good luck," Myka returns his smile.

"Good luck?"

HG gestures over his shoulder to Dre and Max. "I have it on good authority he's had far more than his daily allotment for sugary drinks. And now he's getting riled up again."

Pete shrugs. "I'll just lock the door and let him go wild."

The newlyweds laugh.

"I'll see you at breakfast, yeah? We'll wanna see you again before you head off on the honeymoon of boring old stuff."

"There's more than boring old stuff in Greece, Pete," Myka argues.

"Maybe, but you probably won't see it."

"We'll see you at breakfast," HG promises, taking Myka's hand to forestall the sibling bickering that erupts regularly between these two. "Have a good night."

 

***

 

Myka is sleeping. Helena was, too, briefly, but she's awake, now, in that oh-so-comfortable bed, watching her oh-so-beautiful Myka sleep.

And snore. A little. But Helena won't complain: it's rather endearing, actually. She aches from a long day and a long night of activity, both in and out of this bed, but it's a pleasant kind of ache. Besides, the hotel bed is sinfully comfortable, so much so that it practically draws the soreness out of her. Its plush comfort, of course, makes her reflect sourly on their mattress at the B&B. 

Alternatively lumpy and hard as a board, it's been on the bed since Myka moved in so many years ago, and _who knows_ how many years and agents before that. Perhaps they should invest in one as heavenly as this one once they return from Greece. If she remembers anything from carrying Christina, it's the long, uncomfortable nights trying to find a position that would grant both her and the baby relief. She wants to at least give Myka the advantage of starting with a comfortable bed, even if that won't help much towards the end.

Myka being Myka, she's already started to plan how their two weeks in Greece will be spent, but Helena has attempted to leave at least some of their days open to spontaneous adventures, and hopefully no artifacts. She's not naïve enough to think they'll get out of Greece without any brushes with Warehouse weirdness (she's packed neutralizer bag and Tesla for the eventuality) but a girl can dream.

Myka is most excited about a day's excursion to Amphipolis, the site of Alexander's most recently purported tomb, and the tour specially guided by the archaeologist himself, arranged by the Regents. Helena is most excited by the sight of Myka on Greece's exquisite beaches.

Helena reaches up to brush hair from Myka's face, her new ring catching in the moonlight. She smiles. Being "tied" to Myka Bering for an eternity is not so bad, but she knows what will really bind them together forever is greater than any ceremony, and it's the idea of that child still to come both terrifies and exhilarates her.  

 

***

 

tbc


	11. Chapter 11

***

 

_Early October 2016_

 

After two weeks in the sunshine-y warmth of Greece, the overcast cool of South Dakota is quite a shock to Myka’s system. It’s their second day back from the honeymoon, and she’s having trouble adjusting back into the real world. A full house of several adults, cooped up inside by never-ending grey clouds, is a rude awakening from the sun-dappled solitude of many hotel rooms all across Greece, and that one tent pitched outside of Amphipolis. She’s happy to be home, but oh does she miss the quiet. And the warmth. That’s probably why she was so quick to escape to the library with Max today.

Myka has Max's library books (all ten of them, which makes her very proud, even if they're all superhero adventures and books about dinosaurs) balanced on her left hip as she watches him climb all over the library's indoor, two level playhouse with his pre-K playmates. The library playground is quite the hopping place in October in South Dakota. 

"Congratulations!"

Myka looks up sharply, confused.

The bubbly young librarian gestures to her left hand, and Myka blushes.

"Oh, right," she says. "Thank you."

She glances at the simple, warm band around her ring finger, and she smiles involuntarily. She never really thought a wedding ring would mean so much to her.

"Max told me all about it," Miss Shelly says. "We're not all backwards up here in South Dakota, you know. You can be excited!"

"I am," Myka defends, adjusting her hold on Max's books. "It's just new; I kinda keep forgetting it's there."

Shelly laughs.

"Max told you all about it?" 

"It's the first thing he told me when he ran in here today," Shelly says. "'Miss Shelly! Hi! My aunts got married!'."

Myka shakes her head. "He's a chatterbox. I'm sure the whole town knows."

"He's excited," Shelly says warmly. 

Suddenly, Max takes a tumble of the not-very-serious but still tear-inducing variety. 

"I should go," Myka says quickly.

"Okay! Tell your wife I say hi," Shelly says brightly.

Wife. Yep. _That's_ still weird.

Myka drops to her knee beside Max and sets the books down beside them.

"You okay, buddy?"

Max nods and wipes at his tears, holding his elbow up for her to kiss. 

"Can we go home?" he asks, grabbing onto her shoulder. 

"Yeah, let's go home. Take a couple books and we'll go get your coat, okay?"

 

***

 

There are days when she is so sure that having a child is going to be the best decision they’ve ever made. 

And then there are the days like this. Days when she comes home to the B&B after long hours of paperwork and finds that Max and Helena have turned the _entire_ first floor into a sprawling metropolis. Likely using every block (wooden, Lego, or otherwise) and every Hot Wheel car, Tonka truck, and any toy that moves, the city has left only a small path throughout the house (and judging by the boats at the path’s edges, it’s meant to be a river). Oh, she’s sure Dre and Claudia assisted, but this entire project has Max and Helena’s stamp all over it. Helena probably called it an exercise in urban planning, or municipal development, or some thing like that. And of course, it’s 10:00 and no one has bothered to clean any of it up.

Thankfully, even the days of chaos in pursuit of science and Myka’s resulting annoyance end something like this: Helena and Max sprawled out on their bed amidst several stacks of books, sound asleep in a tangle of limbs. The book towers lean precariously, and a couple have even fallen onto the floor. 

And though all the mess grates on Myka’s need for control, she can also see, in all of it, the _fun_ they had today, so much so that they passed out while reading, not even capable of turning out the lamp on the nightstand. What amazes Myka, what made up her mind, what tells her that they’ve made the right decision, is that Helena, her Helena, who has seen so much, lost so much, harbored so much grief and rage, still has an amazing capacity for joy and play. It’s a capacity she had to work hard to recover and maintain, but it is here and strong, and it blows Myka away. 

There will be time to clean in the morning. For now, she just quietly removes the books and piles them on the reading chair. She debates a shower, but she’s just so exhausted, so she ducks into the bathroom to just brush her teeth and quickly rinse her face. 

Then she pulls on some pjs, shuts off the lamp, and with a kiss for each, she slips into her spot behind them.

 

***

 

_Halloween 2016_

 

This isn’t how Halloween was supposed to go. Max was okay with waking up this Halloween morning with his dad still away for work. He easily let his Aunt Leena dress him for pre-K in a toned down version of his costume (no green paint or giant hands allowed in the classroom), and he kissed her warmly goodbye at the classroom door, content with assurances that his Dad would be home in time to trick or treat.

Those assurances did not account for late October’s finicky weather all across the country (except for Univille, where it’s a cold but completely clear day).

After breaking the news on the drive home, Leena has been fighting off a total breakdown for the disappointed boy. Claudia has mercifully held off on any “you wouldn’t like him when he’s angry” jokes for now. 

On top of that, the dishwasher is broken, and while in general Leena doesn’t mind the chore of dishwashing, doing the dozens of dishes of the B&B’s ever-busy agents is just too much, especially with a pouting Max in the other room.

“I got the rest of ‘em,” Claudia interrupts as she comes to the sink and bumps Leena away with her hip. “And I’ll see if I can fix it in the morning, but I might have to wait for HG.”

“I can-”

“You’ve already done most of them. I can finish up. Our costumes are done, by the way.”

“ _Our_ costumes?”

“Well, yeah. If we’re taking the little dude out for the night, _we_ should be in costume, too. Don’t worry; yours is nice. I’ve been working on mine since Max settled on the Hulk, so I threw something together for you to round out the theme.”

“Should I be scared?”

Claudia just grins and deposits another bowl in the drying rack.

“How have you had time to make yourself a costume?” Leena asks.

“Priorities. And very little sleep. What time do you want to head out?”

Leena glances at the clock on the microwave. “An hour? Which I guess means I should go talk to him and get him ready.”

 

***

 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Max pouts, pulling his legs up to his chest as he drops his Iron Man figurine onto the couch beside him.

“Are you ready to start the face paint?”

Max shrugs.

“He wants to be here, you know.”

Max nods dutifully, but remains grumpy, and Leena sighs. She’d known that wasn’t going to work, but it is still a good place to start. 

“And he’ll be home tomorrow morning, and we’ll put on your costume again and show him all your candy. Tonight, Aunt Claudia and I are both going to come with you. That’ll be fun, right?”

That gets a grin out of him, small though it is, and he nods a little more heartily.

“Aunt Claudia made a cool costume for her, too. I’m not sure what it is, but-”

Max pushes his action figure towards her and says: “Iron Man.”

Used to such non sequiturs from the four-year-old, she nods. 

“Yeah, he’s pretty cool.”

Max shakes his head negatively. 

“Aunt Claud’s gonna be Iron Man,” he corrects with a grin. 

Oh of course she is. Leena worries about what crazy costume Claudia has dreamed up for her.

“Well, what will Iron Man be without her Hulk?” Leena asks. “Ready to get ready?”

He’s really grinning, now, and he gives her a big hug when she holds her arms open for him.

“Alright!” Claudia says excitedly as she enters the room. “Time to Hulk out!”

 

***

 

“Explain again who I’m supposed to be?” Leena asks, surveying the skirt suit laid out for her. Claudia hands her a laminated badge.

“Pepper Potts!” Max tells her with an exasperated sigh. Given his completely green face and comically large foam hands, he’s quite an amusing picture.

Claudia laughs. 

“Yeah, _Aunt Leena_ , Pepper Potts.”

Despite Leena’s assumptions, Claudia’s costume is pretty tame: a red sweatsuit with gold and silver paint embellishments and a large plastic helmet. Max, in green sweatpants and a sweatshirt, with purple shorts pulled over, also has a puffy green coat bought cheap at a Goodwill to keep him warm on a chilly Dakota night.

“Tony loves Pepper. And she’s awesome,” Max reports, just like Claudia has taught him.

“I figured you wouldn’t want anything too complicated,” Claudia grins at Max’s recital, helmet on her hip. “Max an’ I are gonna go wait downstairs, okay? Make sure Steve and Graham have the candy situation under control. In case some trick or treaters get lost enough to come to the B&B.”

Leena smiles as they leave.

“And then trick or treat!” Max yells from the hallway.

 

***

 

_November 2016_

 

“HG! Let’s go! Five minute warning!”

Pete’s bellow echoes throughout the entire bed and breakfast.

“And there goes our peaceful Sunday morning,” Claudia sighs, looking up from her laptop and sharing a look with Leena and Myka around the sunroom table.

It’s been a rough few weeks. Teams have been in and out as pings pop up at an alarming rate. There doesn’t seem to be anything nefarious at play; life in the Warehouse is just like this. Sometimes it gets hot, sometimes it gets cold, and sometimes no one gets a real day off in seventeen days.

But time and the NFL wait for no man, even the weary and finally resting, and Pete has taken HG’s sports education into his own hands, the better to prepare her for an American child, he says. Today’s lesson? The Cleveland Browns versus the Arizona Cardinals.

“Football before lunch is _still_ weird,” Steve, their resident eastcoaster, complains, padding down the stairs in his sweats, a slight limp from a tweaked knee on his last retrieval. 

“ _Football_ is simply “weird”,” HG comments. “Many of these rules are completely arbitrary. And why a sport that so consistently results in debilitating head injuries remains so popular is a mystery beyond my understanding.”

Even as she points out these major flaws in the sport, she takes her seat on the couch.

“C’mon, HG. Even you like the big hits. A little bit of Schadenfreude,” Dre counters, dropping beside her with a giant bowl of popcorn.

HG shrugs her acquiescence as the Lattimers make their appearance.

Max jumps into the doorway and lets out a growl that is fairly intimidating for a four-year-old, though muffled by the full dog mask covering his face.

“The Browns are in the house!” Pete announces, flexing his muscles under his brown jersey.

Trailer trots in behind him, gives his young companion a curious look,  and then settles down in front of the couch, keeping an eye on the bowl of popcorn and hoping for some careless humans.

“That’s a lot of excitement for a team that’s 2 and 7,” Steve comments. 

“Against a team that is 3 and 6,” Dre adds.

“Anyone can win, any day,” Pete counters. “That’s the beauty of football. Every game matters.”

“Wait for the afternoon game, HG,” Steve says from his chair. “Packers/Niners. Quality football.”

“Yeah, okay,” Pete agrees, scruffing Max’s mask covered head as his sits in front of the couch. “But Max and I are not fair weather fans. Maximus, go up and sit with HG and Dre, okay? Tray doesn’t need _that_ much popcorn.”

Max nods and scrambles up, pulling the mask from his face.

“It’s itchy, Daddy.”

“That’s okay. You can take it off.”

The boy dumps the mask, but he is still decked out in a sweatshirt declaring loyalty to the Browns. 

Over in the sunroom, Myka comments to Leena:

“Remember when there was only a TV in Pete’s room?”

Leena smirks. “The whining became too much; I had to give in.”

“I like it. Except for the football,” Claudia comments.

There’s a hush in the other room that indicates kick-off, and then Pete’s agonized groan.

“Oh, c’mon! You’ve gotta wrap up! That’s not a tackle!”

“C’mon!” Max mimics. 

“Why are you _so_ _bad_?” Dre questions.

Leena glances towards the living room. “Sounds like comfort food for lunch.”

 

***

 

It’s feast or famine in the Warehouse, it seems. While October and early November had been one ping after another, the artifacts have all gone dormant. The first week had been a nice respite, but at Day 10 relief has given way to boredom. While most while away the hours going through the motions of inventory and cold cases, Helena has taken to her labs, both in the Warehouse and the Top Secret Shed, almost obsessively.

“Hi,” Myka calls to her wife from the doorway of the Warehouse lab. 

Helena manages to look up and smile a “Hello, darling,” before diving her head back into her work.

“I’ve come to take you home for dinner.”

“Ah yes, perfect. One moment.”

Myka takes a look around the cluttered room and feels a sinking feeling in her gut as many of her suspicions are confirmed. She started to suspect while they were in Greece, when Helena was more entranced by the small biplane that chauffeured them around than the wonder of Alexander’s possible tomb. The model hanging from an old coat rack at the end of one of the tables tells her everything she needs to know.

“You’re building a plane,” she says flatly. 

“Attempting to, yes,” Helena answers absently. It takes her a moment, but then she seems to process Myka’s tone. “Myka, don’t make that face. It’s perfectly sa-”

“No, it’s not _safe_. Do you know how many people died in early tests for planes?”

“Quite a few, I suspect, but none were-”

“As smart as you?” Myka bites back. “The plane has already been invented, Helena.”

“Yes, and I missed out. All those men-”

“You are a _genius_. You could be using your mind to create _anything_ else. If you want to fly, okay, buy a Cessna and get some lessons in Featherhead. But to fly something cobbled together from what’s lying-”

“I’ve cobbled nothing!” Helena defends. “I’ve special ordered several parts, and I assure you-”

Myka’s glare intensifies, and she crosses her arms over her chest. 

“We’re having a _child_. For all we know, I could be pregnant _right_ _now_. And I know our jobs are dangerous, but you’re here trying to build some deathtrap that could fall right out of the sky and-”

“Your faith in my work is heart-warming, darling,” Helena retorts.

“Oh don’t. You could build anything in the _world_. Why does it have to be this?”

“And why is it this you are so hung up on? You’ve never objected to a project in the past. My work, both alone and with Claudia, can be perilous, but I’ve never taken any unnecessary risks. I’ll be just as cautious this time. What makes those projects any better?”

“Because you were _inventing_ or you were problem-solving or you were learning. Everything you would learn from this you could learn in a book. Or on YouTube. This is reinventing the wheel because your pride is wounded.”

Helena all but pouts at the accusation, and Myka crosses the workshop to rest a hand on her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to show up the Wright Brothers. You’d’ve given ‘em hell,” she says more gently. “But I’m not going to risk you for an outdated mode of transportation, and I’m not doing any of this alone. Invent something better, and preferably land-based.”

After a sigh, Helena admits softly: “I’m not sleeping.” 

“You don’t say,” Myka teases gently.

“Ever since we started trying... I am anxious to conceive, yes, but also terrified, grabbing onto every last moment. I imagine our lives will be much busier in the coming months... I simply hoped to accomplish this one task while my work still held this much of my attention. And I suppose to stave off my anxieties.”

“You can work as much as you want, but _please_ on something else. I don’t ask that very often.”

Helena concedes with a nod. She extends a hand to Myka’s abdomen.

“How long until you can take a test?”

“A few more days.”

“How are you feeling?”

“The same?” Myka shrugs. “Normal. Vanessa said it could take a few tries.”

“Yes, don’t want to get our hopes up.”

“Or our anxieties,” Myka posits.

“Those either.”

“Come home for dinner? Max misses you.”

“Oh, _Max_ does?”

“Yep, just Max.”

Helena strips off her labcoat and gives Myka’s rear a swat.

“I _can_ keep the model, yes?”

“Of course.”

“Maybe it could go in the nursery.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

 

***

tbc


	12. Chapter 12

 

_Christmas 2016_

 

While during her time in the twenty-first century she has come to appreciate the era’s holiday music, it is when Artie plays the old hymns that HG really feels in the Christmas spirit. And yes, the irony of Arthur Weisfeldt pulling the beautiful old Nativity music from the piano is not lost on her, but Artie seems rather secular, only in it for the music.

Unfortunately, despite the snow piling up outside, the sinful smells constantly radiating from the kitchen, and Macsen’s mounting excitement, the _Christmas spirit_ is not really a good place for her to linger. It has, against all odds, finally gotten easier every year to celebrate without her daughter, but the holidays are still a particularly sensitive time. Furthermore, the topic of Christina has remained even closer to the surface than usual for the last three months, given their three attempts (two failed and one still undetermined) to replace her.

She chides herself on such thinking, knowing it’s unhealthy but seemingly powerless to stop it. Especially-

“Agey!” Max pounces, and HG flinches in surprise. The boy can be exceptionally quiet when he actively tries.

“Hello, darling.”

His cheeks are pink and cold, his eyes bright, and his smile beaming. 

“Have you been in the snow?”

“Aunt Mykes an’ Daddy an’ me made a snowdude.”

“A snow _dude_?” HG chuckles.

“Yeah. With a cowboy hat,” Max says matter-of-factly, hopping onto the couch, smiling in the fire-warmed room. 

“Very nice. I’ll have to see it in the morning, since it looks a little dark now.”

Max nods. “He’s taking care of the shovel.”

He’s dressed just in his long johns and fuzzy wool socks. She can only imagine the pile of outerwear by the door, slowly being added to as Myka and Pete shed their winter clothes more slowly than the little speed demon snuggled in beside her.

“Are you cold still?”

Max shakes his head and shrugs, then pauses, cocking his head towards the piano.

“S’pretty.”

“It is. Grandpa Artie is very talented.”

Max nods, keeping an ear on the piano even as he wiggles his toes under her thigh. This Christmas time, as if sensing her sadder mood, Max has been very patient and gentle with her, close at hand but often calmer than usual. 

“How’s he do it?” he asks several minutes later, after HG has returned to her book.

“Do what, darling?”

Max motions to the piano.

“Aha. Years of practice. Likely many lessons.

“Lessons?”

“Someone taught him to play.”

“Oh.”

“If you go closer, Max, I’m sure he’d answer any of your questions.”

“Yeah?” Max asks for confirmation, sounding oh-so-much like his father.

“Indeed.” She smirks only a little as she sends the inquisitive little boy off to his often impatient grandfather.

“Okay!”

He lunges forward and kisses her cheek, then hops down and sprints on stocking feet towards the piano.

 

 

***

 

Claudia, Leena, and Pete have the turned the B&B into a winter wonderland of holiday _crap_. Artie really has no patience for it, but Vanessa, in town for a few weeks for the holiday, seems to find it charming. With her encouragement, he’s been spending more time at the B &B’s piano playing carols both modern and ancient. So far there have been no objections, and even a few sing-a-longs.

There’s a tell-tale pitter-patter charging in behind him. Vanessa, leaning against the piano, beams and greets:

“Hello, Mr. Max!”

“Hi,” Max answers back, stopping short of the piano bench, just off Artie’s shoulder. The boy hasn’t shown any interest in the piano since he was an infant fascinated with the keys, but tonight he seems intrigued. “What ya playin ’ ?”

“ _Lo, how a rose e’er blooming_ , ” Artie answers without stopping.

Max’s silence broadcasts his confusion.

“But maybe you’d prefer a little ‘Jingle Bells’ , ” he suggests, easily transitioning to the more upbeat tune. Max steps in closer, climbing onto the bench beside him, staring intently at his hands.

“How do you make the music?” he questions.

“With my fingers.”

“Artie…” Vanessa reproaches.

“Each of these white and black keys makes a different sound. When I put the sounds together I make songs.”

“Which keys?”

“Whichever ones fit together. And I learned that through practice and lessons.”

“Agey says someone teached you.”

“Yes, someone taught me,” Artie says, not missing a note. 

“Who?”

“My father.”

“Oh.”

Artie moves into “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and Max watches, enraptured. Halfway through “Sleigh Bells”, Max blurts:

“Can you teach me?”

Artie pauses, and the music falls away. 

He’s only four (and four months), albeit a very bright four from what Artie can tell. And many of his father’s students had started on the basics that young, a little exposure to the art, at least.

“Maybe.”

“If your dad says it’s okay.”

He begins to brighten against.

“And you promise to listen to me.” Max nods. “And practice every day.” That’s not actually going to happen, but it’s good to start the expectations early. “And always wash your hands before you touch the piano.” Max nods again, vigorously. “Do you promise?”

“Yes, Grandpa Artie!”

Later, he’ll defend against the teasing by saying that he was powerless to say no with Vanessa looking at him like that and that he is in no way _soft_. But for now, he’ll admit to feeling a strong surge of affection when Max beams at him. He definitely isn’t teary as he says:

“As long as it’s okay with Dad, we’ll start after New Years.”

 

***

 

_“Oh,_ Mummy _. The baby is_ beautiful. Thank you. _”_

_Christina has that absolutely radiant smile in pace, her eyes alight with joy. She holds a bundle of blankets in her little arms, and Helena’s heart skips in her chest as a tiny hand pushes up into the air from the blankets._

_“I always wanted one. So sweet,”_ _Christina nuzzles the infant in her arms, inhaling deeply and looking over at her mother, eyes sparkling. “Thank you so much.”_

_“You’re welcome,”_ _Helena manages to croak, not quite sure what she’s accepting gratitude for._

_They sit for what feels like an eternity, Helena sitting dumbfounded on Christina’s nursery bed as her daughter rocks the baby and sings familiar lullabies._

_“I’ve been ever so lonely, Mummy,”_ _Christina sighs, finally looking up. “But now you’ve brought me some company.”_

_Helena’s blood runs cold and she tries to reach for the infant. Christina laughs and dances away, holding her sibling out of reach._

_“No, no,”_ _she tuts, and the baby starts to cry. “Mine to keep. My mummy brought me a baby, and it’s mine to keep. It’s - “_

 

***

 

Helena wakes with a yell. 

That’s rare. Her dreams are often bad, nightmares worse, but she has, despite Myka’s reproaches, trained herself to wake from them pretty soundlessly. This time, though, she cries out loud enough to wake Myka, if she hadn’t already been awake herself, battling an uncomfortable insomnia made even more frustrating by the fatigue that’s plagued her waking hours of late.

Myka has her arms around Helena in a second, hands slipping on shoulders slick with sweat. She kisses her temple and soothes: 

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

It’s too dark to make out Helena’s face, but Myka’s seen it often enough to know: fear, then confusion, lost in time and space, and finally that half-second of heartbreak and devastation before she composes herself. 

“Myka?”

Her voice is still so shaky: maybe she needs more than half a second this time.

“I’m here. It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

“Not tonight.” Helena clears her voice, more composed. “Sorry to wake you.”

“I wish you had,” Myka sighs, holding her close.

“Still not sleeping, darling?”

“Nope.”

“Well, at least we can keep each other company.”

Myka looks at the clock. “At least for the next hour or two before Max starts running around yelling about Santa.”

Helena manages a little chuckle. Last year was the first year Max understood the concept of Santa Claus, and since he has been humming with anticipation since Thanksgiving, they have no reason to think he won’t be even more exuberant this year.

After a few moments where their soft breathing is the only thing that fills the room, Myka starts:

“Do you want to talk-“

“No. Not yet.”

 

***

 

It’s a silly little project that has Helena in the Top Secret Shed today. It doesn’t really matter _what_ she’s tinkering with, really. She just needed an excuse to escape for a few hours. They’ve all been together quite a bit during this lull between Christmas and New Years. While it’s been lovely for the most part, and she’s mustered quite a bit of genuine holiday cheer, there has been a weight on her shoulders, a hard to shake shadow that sends her frequently seeking solitude. 

The banging of the door is loud, especially given that until now the only sound was the quiet hum of the soldering iron. She jumps, giving herself a quick burn. She curses and sucks on the offended finger, pulling the protective goggles down around her neck. 

“Peter,” she calls loudly, “For the last time, I will not make that train set go any faster, and I’ve forbidden Claudia from-  Myka!”

Breathless and flushed, Myka is, to be perfectly honest, a bit of a mess. And, completely coat-less in late December in South Dakota.

“What is it?” Helena asks, pulling her into the shed and all but shoving her closer to one of the heaters. “What’s wrong?”

Myka trips a little at the manhandling, revealing untied boots and no socks.

“Are you trying to freeze?” Helena admonishes.

“I took a test,” Myka blurts. “I didn’t want to tell you, because you make this face, every time.” Myka pauses, apologetic. “I thought it would be negative again, but… They were positive. They were all positive. I’m-“

“Pregnant,” Helena finishes for her.

Myka nods, beaming. There are snowflakes in her hair, melting in the warmth of the shed. 

Helena’s world tilts. She grabs onto the work table, flashing back to the dreams that have plagued her, her darling Christina turned slightly sinister, coveting and keeping that faceless child in her nightmares. And then further, to the first time she held Christina in her arms and swore to never let any harm come to her.

She failed.

This time-

“Hey,” Myka interjects softly, placing a cold hand on her cheek, smile fading just a little.

Her world shifts again. All the progress she’s made comes flooding back to her, reminding her of the life she is building with this amazing woman. The _life_ she has created with this amazing woman.

“Are you-“

“Ecstatic,” Helena answers enthusiastically before she can finish. “Utterly ecstatic.”

She pulls Myka towards her, an arm around her waist, a hand in her hair, her forehead against hers.

“I can’t believe you were so impatient,” she murmurs, teasing. Though if she’s honest, perhaps it was for the best. The seconds ticking away as they waited for test results had left her far too long to think on her anxieties. 

Myka laughs in relief, and Helena smiles wider as warm breath sends errant curls tickling across her cheek.

“I didn’t want to tell anyone yet, but I think it’s going to be hard to get away with that when I just sprinted barefoot past a full living room,” Myka says.

“They’re probably all gathered at the back window right now,” Helena agrees.

She kisses Myka then, grateful for the persistent frost on the Top Secret Shed’s only window. They stand like that for several minutes, exchanging soft kisses and possessive caresses until finally they pull apart. 

Her hands slide to Myka’s stomach, resting lightly, and she meets her eyes.

“ _Thank you_ . ”

“Thank me when he or she is screaming at three in the morning. Or slamming doors as a teenager.”

“No. Thank you, Myka,” Helena insists. “I know all about the work it takes to carry a child. So thank you for carrying ours.”

Myka smiles, covering Helena’s hands with her own.

“Well, I expect you to be holding my hair every time I puke. And I have a lot of hair.”

“Gladly.”

“And if what they say about crazy cravings is true-“

“It is.”

“Then you might be taking a lot of late night trips to Featherhead.”

“With pleasure, darling.”

“We’ll see about that when I’m a giant, cranky whale.”

“I’m sure you’ll continue to be a complete delight.”

“Are you going to be this nice the whole time? Because it’s kind of starting to freak me out.”

“I’ll attempt to be more cruel, then,” Helena teases. Myka laughs, and Helena relishes the light in her eyes. She takes a moment to hope that their child’s eyes are as green as her wife’s. It’s the most she’s really allowed herself to hope, and it quickly sobers her. “I will probably worry quite a bit. Too much, in fact.”

“That’s okay,” Myka promises, seriously. “And I’ll be here to help you _not_ worry too much. Deal?”

“Indeed, my love. I do believe we have a deal.”

 

***

tbc


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love every single person that is still reading this, so much. There are people out there reading this, right? I once again apologize profusely for the delay. Life and some hellacious writers block and the commute from hell. Also, yes, the first part of this story has an Earl of Sandwich joke.

***

 

_January 2017_

 

“No, no, no. I swore three blood oaths, and who _knows_ what you had to do to get HG to let you come on this mission. _I_ am doing the heavy lifting.”

“Pete! I am still a _person_ , not an invalid.”

“Nuh-huh. The only reason you got to come was because it was supposed to be a simple grab. And now it’s not.”

“ _Got to_?” Myka balks. “I am an active agent, not a charity case.”

“Oh yeah? You already puked twice today.”

“So? You puke all the time.”

Pete grabs his stomach. “That is because of _food_ , not a baby.”

“I’m fine. The baby is smaller than a peanut. It’s fine. And now as we’re arguing, the guy is getting away.”

“Sit, stay, don’t make me get in trouble with the Victorian crazy lady,” Pete orders, taking off at a sprint before she can further protest.

Myka considers following after, but she won’t complain too much about making Pete do the grunt work of chasing down an insolent teenager. She will not, however, _sit down_. 

A few minutes later, a breathless Pete returns with the cuffed artifact thief. He turns the teenager around and says: “Back pocket. You got something that’s gonna hurt my partner in there, dude?”

“No,” the culprit says sullenly.

He’s so young, and Myka is inclined to believe him. She snaps her gloves into place and cautiously fishes for John Montague’s lucky coin. Successful, she slips it into a neutralizer bag.

“I was just trying to make a quick buck,” the kid complains.

“Yeah, well,” Pete says, “Wasn’t your buck.”

“Can I at least get something to eat? I’m starving.”

Myka grins and meets Pete’s eyes: “Maybe we can get you a sandwich.”

 

***

 

It is rare that Irene Frederic finds herself _called into_ a meeting at Warehouse 13. Usually she is the one doing the calling. However, Arthur had reached out. And after checking her purse to make sure she had some of the sweets she liked to secret in for the youngest Lattimer, she had set off.

When she arrives in Arthur’s office, Agents Lattimer, Bering, and Wells are there as well, Bering flanked by the other two and looking none too pleased with either. 

Irene joins them at the table with cursory greetings, and then Arthur finally makes his usual fumbling entrance, Trailer at his heel. 

“Mrs. Frederic, thanks for coming. We have, uh, what I would imagine is an unusual situation, uh-“

“Agent Bering is pregnant,” Irene says matter-of-factly.

“You knew?” Artie asks.

“It’s a natural progression of events,” Irene notes. “And it easily explains your discomfort, Arthur.” The lead Warehouse agent blushes. Irene turns her attention to Agents Wells and Bering. “Congratulations.”

Myka manages a smile and a nod of thanks. 

“So, you see why we needed your input. This situation presents us with a challenge that Max’s arrival did not.” Arthur’s hyper-professionalism is doing a decent job of covering the stuttering and blushing of earlier. “And a situation I could not find any precedent for.”

“Namely, a pregnant Warehouse field agent,” Irene says.

“I don’t think she should be in the field,” Agent Lattimer speaks up for the first time, cringing and passing an apologetic look at his partner.

Agent Bering is indignant but unsurprised.

“That’s ridiculous,” she objects. “I’m not broken. My brain and body work fine.”

“Fieldwork is dangerous,” Lattimer counters. “I’m supposed to have your back. This is too much responsibility.”

Myka rolls her eyes. “That’s a healthy dose of paternalism.”

Pete opens his mouth to object, but Arthur cuts him off.

“Children, not in front of company.”

“Mrs. Frederic,” Bering addresses her more calmly. “In the Secret Service, agents are put on desk duty on an individual basis, but never until at least the second trimester. I haven’t even finished the first trimester. To be honest, no one but Helena and I would know if it weren’t for all of us living on top of each other. Keeping me in the field is standard procedure.”

“Teslas and artifacts are not standard procedure,” Agent Wells finally enters the conversation, her voice more measured than Bering’s or Lattimer’s. “There is no way to know the effects of even the proximity of them on the baby, let alone any direct contact.

Bering softens as she looks at her wife.

“I’d be careful. Just small, easy jobs. Normal ones.”

“There is no such thing. A retrieval can turn deadly in an instant. The risk is too high,” Wells argues. Bering’s eyes are locked on her, so she doesn’t notice Lattimer nodding vehemently in agreement. 

“Mrs. Frederic?” Arthur asks.

Irene considers.

As a mother herself, she understand the need to stand apart from that role, to maintain yourself as an independent person. You don’t want to be seen _only_ as a mother. It was even more difficult to accomplish all those decades ago when she became a mother, but that challenge remains today.

Of course, as a mother and the Caretaker of the Warehouse, she can certainly see it from Agent Wells’s perspective as well, and that is even without the acute sensitivity that Helena must harbor on such a topic. 

“Are you asking for my opinion or my direction?” Irene asks.

Arthur looks at his agents, then at her.

“Direction,” he says firmly.

“Then I’m sorry, Agent Bering, but I must agree with your wife. The risk is too high. You will be put on ‘desk duty’ for the duration of your pregnancy.”

Myka sets her jaw once and nods, resigned. Her wife and her partner have the decency to refrain from gloating in victory.

“I believe this is also a good time to inform you all of my intention to recruit an eighth agent to the Warehouse.”

“That’s a lot of agents,” Pete comments.

“It is, but it is not even close to the full capacity of earlier eras. I’ll be requiring Claudia to accompany me more often , and given the _unique_ demands on our agents’ time, I believe an additional body would serve us well.”

“Deandre will be excited,” Helena comments lightly.

Myka cracks a smile, and Pete laughs.

“Why would this news be of special importance to Agent Williams?”

“He’s tired of being the “New Guy” for four years,” Myka tells her.

“I see. Well, I’ll inform you all when the new recruit is ready. If there are no more matters for me to attend to, I will head to Leena’s.” She glances at her watch. “I believe Max should be home by now?”

“Leena should be back with him any minute,” Pete grins. “I’ll give you a ride. Coming, Mykes?”

Myka glances at her wife, who answers for them. “We’ll be along shortly.”

“We’ll come,” Arthur says. “Tray.”

The dog’s ears perk up over on his bed.

“Let’s go see Max.”

That gets Trailer leaping to his feet and trotting to the umbilicus.

“Save me some lunch, Pete,” Myka calls after them, and Irene is glad to see no hard feelings are evident between the two.

“You’re eating for two now,” Pete grins.

“Which still isn’t as much as you eat,” Myka says cheekily.

“Children,” Arthur sighs.

 

***

 

“I’m sorry,” Myka says as soon as they are alone, turning her chair to face Helena’s. “I hear you, I do. I don’t meant to scare you. I just-“

“Want to remain independent. Remain useful,” Helena says.

Myka smiles. “Remain something other than barefoot and pregnant.”

“We’ve been over this, love. It is winter in South Dakota: _please_ wear socks.”

Myka shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

“I understand that drive, Myka, I do. But the risk.”

“I don’t want to spend the rest of our lives calculating the risk,” Myka sighs. She sees the tightening of Helena’s mouth, the mount frustration, and quickly adds: “But this was too much. You’re right.”

“You can be quite helpful from here,” Helena offers helpfully.

“Alright. But I’m not doing your paperwork. And especially not Pete’s.”

“Sounds fair,” Helena chuckles.

“Okay.”

Helena reaches over and takes her hand. “I will be overprotective on many occasions.”

Myka squeezes her hand: “I know.”

“This is not one of them,” she says seriously.

“Yeah, I’ve been outvoted,” Myka bite her lip. “I kinda knew I would be.” She pauses. “Does that make me already a bad mom?”

“No,” Helena promises. “It makes you human.”

Myka makes a face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you think Artie would mind if I puked in his office?” Myka asks, voice strained.

“He’ll have to deal with it,” Helena grins, helping her to her feet.

 

***

 

_February 2017_

 

Pete loves the Warehouse. Pete loves his family. But today? He really wishes both were based somewhere, anywhere, warmer than South Dakota. Like, say, Antarctica. 

He rubs his hands together as he waits for release time at Max’s pre-K. Mittens would probably be warmer than his gloves, but he refuses to look like that much of a dork, even in the car pool line. So fleece-lined leather gloves it it. And a nice warm scarf Leena got him for Christmas. No hat: they mess with his hair.

“Cold enough for you?”

Pete looks up to see one of the moms of Max’s classmates smiling kindly at him. Now if only he could remember her name. Or even her kid’s. 

“Hey!” he says, hoping the enthusiasm covers his lack of recognition. He wishes Grace was nearby. As his primary parent friend and mother of Max’s BFF Derek, Grace usually saves his ass in these situations.

“Hi,” the mom smiles. “You’re Max’s dad, right?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name,” the woman apologizes.

Pete sighs in relief.

“I’m Pete.”

“Pete,” she nods. “I’m Lacey’s mom. Jackie.”

Lacey. Pete tries to place the name, but he’s drawing a blank.

“Lacey’s been taking about Max a lot recently. She said he’s been talking about his aunts getting married.”

She says it tentatively, and Pete tries to read her. Plenty of Univille’s residents have a live-and-let-live or even a welcoming attitude towards Max’s gay aunts and uncle, but there are others…

“Yeah!” Pete decides to go with excitement. “Last fall. Max had a blast.”

“It’s just…” She meets his eyes. “We ‘ve never had a play date at our house. It’s hard to tell which parents are going to be okay with it, and I don’t want to put Lacey in a harder situation. But when Lacey mentioned Max and that she told him about her moms… Yeah. I was wondering if you and Max wanted to come over some time for lunch and a play date with Lacey, my wife, and I?”

“Oh! Yes!” Pete says, finally catching on at “moms”. “No, we’d love to, sure.”  He’s not sure that Max is already friends with this Lacey, but Max is kinda friends with _everyone_ , so he’s sure his son will enjoy such an afternoon. “When?”

Jackie looks relieved. “Is next week okay? Are weekdays or weekends better for you?”

“Whichever. My work is flexible. Do you want to do next Monday?”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

“Daddy!”

“Hey buddy!” Pete greets his sprinting son with an ‘oof’ of contact. 

“Hi, Lacey’s mommy.”

“Hi Max,” Jackie laughs.

“Maximus. We’re going to Lacey’s house on Monday.”

“Cool! Lacey’s got horses.”

“She does?” Pete asks, directing the question to Max but looking at Jackie.

“She does,” Jackie confirms with a grin.

“Hers is named Princess,” Max tells him.

“Hey Max, did you see Lacey when you were on your way out?” Jackie asks.

“She ’n’ Emma were at the end of the line,” Pete’s little social butterfly answers easily, grabbing his daddy’s hand and dragging him towards the car.

Pete laughs and takes his leave from Jackie with a wave and a “See you Monday!”. 

“What are we gonna do now, Daddy?”

“I dunno, what do you want to do?”

“Bowl!” 

 

***

 

“How do you feet about Herbert for a boy? After his mother.”

That Helena looks at her in disbelief for even half a moment tells her that she sold her earnestness well. Even if it is quickly replaced by mock affront.

Myka presses on. “I hear George makes a good middle name. Boy or girl.”

She’s all but laughing by the end as Helena stops her puttering around the bedroom and zeros in on her. Helena’s eyes narrow as she stalks toward her, and Myka grins as she leans back against the headboard, setting the baby name book onto the nightstand. 

“Are you mocking me, darling?”

“Definitely.”

Helena slides in beside her with a grin, and Myka shifts, laying her head in Helena’s lap.

“Do you have any _serious_ suggestions?”

“Those were serious,” Myka grins.

“We’ll keep looking.”

“If we’re going to get _serious_ , we should settle on a last name.”

“A hyphenate _is_ a fair compromise.”

“Yeah, but in what order?”

“Aha.”

“Alphabetical is always easy,” Myka says.

“Says she whose surname begins with B!” Helena accuses.

“They’ll always be towards the front of the line in school,” Myka argues.

“No offense meant, darling, but I believe Wells-Bering simply flows better,” Helena says lightly, fingers burying in Myka’s curls, gently massaging her scalp. 

“Mm. You would.”

“Perhaps a wager is in order, then?”

“We’re not betting on our child’s name.”

“Surname,” Helena corrects cheekily. “The first name should be another adventure altogether.”

Myka laughs.

“What’s the wager?”

“Ah. That _is_ the question. Shall we keep it simple? Bering-Wells if they are born on an even day, Wells-Bering if they are born on an odd day?”

“That’s extremely simple,” Myka smiles.

“No need for competition. It seems fair.”

“Alright. You really don’t like George as a middle name?” Myka beams up at her wife.

“No,” Helena shakes her head, wrinkling her nose. “Do you wish to pass on Ophelia?”

“No,” Myka laughs. “Fair point.”

“Let’s table the first name conversation for the night. Unless you have a more _serious_ suggestion than Herbert.”

Myka laughs again and pushes up on her elbows to kiss Helena. 

“I’ll put together a list.”

“Mhmm,” Helena murmurs against her lops. Her hand drifts to Myka’s belly. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Myka answers as she settles back into Helena’s lap. “Really looking forward to that second trimester energy boost, though. And the lack of morning sickness. Which is - “

“Very poorly named, yes, love. We should get some rest. It is late, and Deandre and I must leave early tomorrow for Kathmandu.”

“I’m so jealous,” Myka groans, shifting to her pillow while Helena shuts off the lamp and slides down the bed to spoon behind her.

“I know. I promise not to have too much fun without you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Helena chuckles into her curls and kisses behind her ear. “No, I don’t.”

 

***

 

tbc


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's the papercuts."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I’m still trucking along! Thank you all for your patience.

_***_

 

_March 2017_

 

Myka gives a wince as Max hits the piano key a little (lot) too hard. Again.

Pete groans.

“He’s four-and-a-half,” he complains. “He should be playing with Legos and monster trucks all day, not begging for piano lessons.”

“You said yes,” Myka reminds him.

“Oh, like, I’m gonna be the bad guy and say no. Besides, I figured he would do it once and lose interest. Or Artie would lose patience. Or something.”

“It’s a half an hour, once a week,” Myka points out. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“A very loud, very _jarring_ , half an hour,” Pete whines.

“It’s a good skill, Pete. And he likes it.”

“I know,” he acquiesces. “I just wanna make sure he spends as much time just being a kid as possible.”

The lesson is nearing its end, Artie having taken over to play a song or two, to Max’s delight.

“He’s got plenty of kid left,” Myka assures him.

“I know, I know. Just being…”

“An over-protective dad?” Myka teases.

“Laugh all you want, Mykes. You’re gonna know exactly how I feel in six months,” he says, pointing to her stomach.

“Oh, I don’t think _I’m_ going to be the overprotective one,” Myka counters, putting her mug of tea down. 

Pete makes a face. “Oh. Yeah.”

The music stops in the other room, and the light thud of the piano keyboard closing is followed by the louder thud of Max hopping off the bench. 

“Thanks, Grandpa Artie.” 

“I think it’s time for a cookie, don’t you?” Artie suggests.

“Cookie?” Pete perks up, already on his feet.

Myka rolls her eyes.

“What?”

“Just bring me one,” she sighs.

“Ha! I love cravings-Myka!”

 

***

 

_May 2017_

 

She’s been grounded. Which, yes, has been the case for months. But it’s particularly more annoying when the morning sickness has passed and she feels mostly back to normal (besides her gradually expanding baby bump). 

Helena has been helpful, but busy. She’s helping pick up the slack in the field left by Myka’s “grounding” as well as spending much of her off time in the lab, tinkering while she can. 

So Myka spends her days at the Warehouse, doing paperwork and research, playing understudy and apprentice to Artie, and, today, doing the Warehouse’s long list of errands with Dre. And Max. It’s early May, no longer _arctic_ cold, but Max is still pretty stir crazy, so they’ve dragged him along. 

First stop is the dry cleaners, for both pick-up and drop-off. They’re regulars. 

“Your clothes sure have a lot of blood stains for IRS agents,” the teenager behind the counter says, apropos of nothing, as he hands Dre this week’s set of clothing. 

The owner shoots him an angry look for questioning their best customers, and there’s a tense beat, as Max feels the need to run around and touch every single thing in the small lobby and Myka eyes the teenager warily.

Dre, though, just flashes his mega-watt smile and says easily:

“It’s the paper cuts.” 

He hands over the credit card, which the cashier runs through without further comment. The owner wishes them a warm good day, and Myka calls for Max to follow them.

“HG said y’all are gonna find out if it’s a girl or a boy next week,” Dre says conversationally outside the grocery store.

Myka takes a moment to respond, surprised. She forgets, sometimes, about the friendship that Deandre and Helena share. It’s not her and Pete, but it is a bond forged in the fires of partnership, and she finds herself grateful that Helena has someone to talk to who isn’t equally bonded to her.

“Yeah, we are,” she says as she reaches a hand out to Max. The four-and-a-half-year-old takes her hand, begrudgingly, as they cross the parking lot. 

“I want a boy,” Max declares, skipping along beside her.

“I’ve heard,” Myka smirks.

Max oscillates between excitement and disappointment about his soon-to-be cousin, but mostly he’s settled on indifference. He doesn’t realize just how much their lives are going to change in a few months.

Maybe none of them do. She knows she’s still struggling to process it all. 

“That’s exciting. Are you feeling one way or the other?”

“No,” Myka lies.

“I’m asking purely conversationally. I definitely haven’t put any money on it,” Dre grins mischievously, lifting Max into one of the “race car” shopping carts.

“Thanks, Dre,” Max chimes, assuming the steering position.

“No prob.”

“Aunt Myka, I want Deandre to push me. Please?”

Myka looks to Dre, who shrugs his agreement.

“Okay. As longs as no one breaks the speed limit.”

Max giggles and Dre gives the cart a shove inside. A dozen steps into the store, both Warehouse agents freeze on the spot. 

“Do you smell fudge?” Dre asks cautiously, his hand slowly moving to his Tesla.

Myka does a quick check of their vicinity and says, sighing with relief, “Sale! It’s on sale, in the bakery.”

“Oh, okay,” Dre relaxes. “So… we’re getting some, right?”

“Definitely.”

 

***

 

Myka finds herself in a position she never expected: she is hoping, praying, wishing that the baby is a boy. 

Myka, who fought so long against her father’s disappointment. Myka, who for most of her life, when she thought about children, imagined little girls to raise into strong, brilliant women. 

Myka desperately wants a son.

Because a daughter, for Helena, will be just that much harder.

Her wife hasn’t said as much, of course, but Myka knows. She tries to talk about it, but Helena usually smoothly changes the subject and distracts her, which is unsurprisingly easy with her second trimester hormones out of control. 

But there’s nothing that can be done about that now, since they are minutes away from finding out.

She stifles a hiss as Vanessa squeezes the ultrasound gel onto her exposed stomach and sends up one last wish to the child inside her. _Do you hear me, little one? Please be a boy._

Helena squeezes her hand and teases: “The blows I’ve seen you take in the field without a thought, darling, and a little _jelly_ is what gets to you.

“It’s _cold_ ,” Myka whines, despite her best efforts.

“Now, now. No teasing the pregnant woman,” Vanessa chides with a grin. “You know, when I installed this exam room for Artie’s ever-regenerating appendix, I never expected it would get the most use for baby wellness checks and pre-natal ultrasounds.

Myka smiles, and Helena chuckles.

“Well I certainly hope our child is a sight more interesting to look at than Arthur’s appendix.”

“I should say so,” Vanessa laughs. “So, we want to know the sex?”

“Yes,” Myka says firmly. 

“Well, I imagine it’s good to know if you can use all of Max’s hand-me-downs,” Vanessa says, conversationally as she gets the machine ready. “Okay, I won’t keep you in suspense any longer.”

The quick, steady thump of their child’s heartbeat fills the room, and Myka finds it as miraculous and breathtaking as the first time. And it is soothing, calming, reassuring. With Helena’s hand firm in her own, Myka suddenly feels confident that they can handle whatever outcome. They can tackle anything together, as a family.

Vanessa traces out the baby’s features and limbs, and Myka splits her attention between that marvelous sight and her wife’s enamored, enraptured face.

“And now if we can just get the little one to shift just a little, and… yes, perfect. Now he’s facing us.”

“He?” Myka asks, breathless.

“Yes, congratulations. It’s a boy!”

 

 

***

 

When she had been expecting Christina, she had never even contemplated the possibility of having a son. She’d simply known (wished, dreamed, willed) that Christina would be a girl. The idea of her, who spent her entire life striving (and often failing) to break down barriers between men and women, raising a child born on the privileged side of those walls was completely unfathomable.

And Christina had been a girl, and Helena had struggled to balance shielding her from the world’s inequality and preparing her for it. 

This time around, she considered the possibility briefly, but she’s been try not to think about the baby’s gender very much at all. This time the idea of a daughter is just overwhelming.

So Vanessa’s announcement that Myka is expecting a boy brought with it relief, but also all of her old, unvoiced concerns about having a male child.

Helena’s hand goes to the square locket on her chest, and this time, she opens it and peers inside. She does this less often than she used to, though one of the lockets always hangs around her neck, a faithful friend. 

Today, Christina’s face, smiling and bright, is not a pinch of grief but a welcome balm. The face in the faded photograph is that of her beloved daughter, exactly as she remembers, not that of the nightmare that continues to plague her. 

Her dear, sweet Christina. She kisses the locket and then does something she hasn’t done since those first dark years after Paris.

“Hello, darling. You’re going to have a brother, you know. I think you would’ve liked that.” She pauses, trying to chase away the nightmare’s ghoulish images. “I worry I won’t be so good at this, this time around. Although, I’m not so sure I was very good at it the first time. And a _boy_ , love. What am I to do with one of those? How am I supposed to teach him to change the world, when the world is already his oyster. 

Well, I do suppose we made a good man, a _great_ man, out of that uncle of yours, eventually. Whatever his faults. And what a rough canvas we had to start! But you softened him, and I believe I was able to expand his mind. I can do the latter for your brother, my dear girl, but I can only hope to pass on to him your sweetness. I will try my best, though.”

There are raucous footsteps on the stairs that can only belong to the Lattimers, so she closes the locket and takes a deep breath, relishing one last moment in her daughter’s presence. Then she opens the bedroom door and puts on a wide smile for the incoming two-man elephant stampede.

“Hello, gentlemen. Where are you sprinting off to?”

“Bath time!” Max cries, already yanking his shirt over his head.

“You’re not going to strip, too, are you?” HG quirks a smile.

“Maybe I will,” Pete teases as Mac’s shirt hits him in the chest. “Hey. You can’t just throw your clothes around willy-nilly. Get back here and- Nope. There are the underoos. Stay in there! Stay in the bathroom. Macsen, you can’t just run around naked! There are ladies present. Somewhere. I heard a rumor.”

Pete grins and HG raises her eyes as he disappears into the bathroom after his son. 

Myka has followed behind them, more quietly of course, and shakes her head.

“Ready for more of that?”  HG asks her.

“I think the taking off all their clothes is a kid thing, not a boy thing,” Myka smiles.

“Fair point.”

There’s a hail of giggles from the bathroom as Pete leans out and says, “Don’t mind us. The bathroom needs a good scrubbing anyway,” before pulling the door shut behind him.

“Have you told them the news yet?” HG asks as she pulls her wife into the bedroom.

“No, I thought we could do it together tomorrow,” Myka smiles. “You know, when she first said it was a boy, one of my first thoughts was ‘How are we going to raise a boy?’ And then I remembered we’ve done that,” she nods towards the bathroom, “for four years, and at least this one’s not a Lattimer.”

“Yes, thank god for that,” Helena grins. “So you’re happy?”

“Very,” Myka reiterates. “He’s healthy. That’s all that matters. And now we can really start to narrow down names. We can even throw half the lists out!” 

“Ah yes,” Helena hums indulgently. “The lists.”

 

***

 

When they tell Max that the baby is a boy, all he says is “Thanks” and runs off to play with Trailer. 

When they tell the others, Pete is ecstatic, Dre and Steve grin, and Artie grumbles about finally gaining something resembling the upper hand. Claudia squeals (but that was to be expected either way) and Leena congratulates. 

And so the B&B goes back to hopeful anticipation for the newest member of their family. 

 

***

 

tbc


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it’s been forever. Over three months, forever. And I know there are some people disappointed about Baby Bering & Wells’s gender and I’m sorry. Just trust me that it’s all for a reason. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. There will be five more chapters before this ride is over!

 

 

_Late June 2017_

 

 

Mrs. Frederic has promised a new recruit soon, but for now, it’s all hands on deck, with an obvious exception. This week, Dre and HG have scattered to Idaho, Claudia and Steve to Odessa, and Artie and Leena are knee-deep in artifact inventory, after Deandre and Pete accidentally took out a quadrant playing with Michael Jordan’s Jordans.

The upside is that Pete has had more time to spend with his two favorite people in the world than he has had in months. 

After this week’s playdate with Laney and her moms (where Pete got to play real life cowboy with the horses), Pete drives a cranky and exhausted Max home to find a stir-crazy Myka.

“Did you bring it?” Myka demand practically as soon as he walks in. Pete sends Max to have a little alone, cooling down time in the living room.

“Bring what?”

“The paperwork! Artie said he’d send it with you when you stopped by this morning.”

“Nope… But things are a little crazy over there.”

Myka lets out a very loud, frustrated groan.

“Great. _Now_ what am I supposed to do?”

“Read a book?”

Her glare could level city blocks.

“I’m so sick of reading.”

“Holy crap, Max! Pack your bag, it’s the apocalypse.”

“ _Pete_. I’m bored. I want to be productive.”

“I want to _not_ be productive. If only we could trade places.”

“Sure. You carry the baby for awhile.”

Pete laughs.

“Okydoky. What about the nursery? I’ll carry stuff down from the attic and then we can assemble furniture and stuff. What do you think?”

“I don’t know if I want to do it without Helena,” Myka bites her lip.

“Assembly, arranging, no decorating!” Pete promises.

“Okay,” Myka sighs. 

Just then Max runs in with his backpack brimming over with stuff.

“Oh, false alarm, kiddo. No apocalypse.”

Max looks pretty depressed about that.

“We’ll have a drill tomorrow,” Pete promises.

“Okay!”

“Wanna help me ’n’ Aunt Mykes with some stuff upstairs?”

“Yeah, cool!”

“Alright, little man. Lead the way!”

 

***

 

“I can’t believe he used to fit in this!” Pete muses as he hauls the crib into the nursery that recently popped up next to Myka and HG’s room. Leena had tried to explain last week about how that happens, but Pete had gotten bored. Sometimes the magic and mystery are more fun, anyway. 

Myka and Max are seated in the rocking chair Pete dragged in on the last trip from the attic. Max slides out of his aunt’s lap. He has trouble fitting there these days anyway. His cute little face is screwed up as he surveys the crib.

“The baby’s getting my bed?”

He certainly doesn’t sound happy about it.

“Yeah, Maxy. You’re too big for this one. You have your race car bed anyway. That’s way cooler.”

“It’s _my_ bed,” Max says.

“Maybe he’s right, Pete,” Myka speaks up, pushing herself out of the rocker. “We should’ve asked.”

Pete leans the crib parts against the wall and surveys his son’s stubborn face.

“Yeah. You’re right. Sorry, buddy. Would you like to give your old crib as a gift to the new little guy?”

Max thinks for a moment, then nods and unfolds his arms.

“Okay. He can have it.”

Myka smiles at him and ruffles his hair.

“Thank you, Max.”

Max nods.

“Do you want to help us build it?” she asks.

“ _Us_?” Pete says, crossing his arms over his chest, just like Max.

“Yes, us, Pete. Once again, I am not an-“

“Invalid, I know,” Pete sighs. “Okay, okay.”

“I’ll help,” Max says enthusiastically, dashing out of the bedroom and disappearing into his own room. He returns with his belt of plastic tools around his waist and a pair of Claudia’s goggles on his head.

“Where do we start?”

Pete laughs. “Alright, Handy Manny, let’s see if Aunt Mykes and I remember how to do this…”

Max’s “assistance” certainly doesn’t hurry the process along, but it does make it lots of fun. His kid’s laugh is just infectious. But Max grows bored before the job is done and retreats to his room to play with his cars.

“You figured out how you’re going to decorate?”

“I don’t know. HG and Claudia have a lot of ideas. They’re almost all too… steampunk.”

“Aha. Sports is always good,” Pete says as he screws in one side of the crib.

“Because he’s a boy?” Myka huffs, holding the rails steady.

“Nooo,” Pete defends. “If he were a girl, I’d say the same. Oh! Or superheroes!”

 

***

 

He used to let Max win, when the boy was a toddler, but he’s been starting to just play the game out, especially in games that require luck rather than skill. He doesn’t want his son to be a sore loser or to pout when he loses, like his Aunt Claudia. But even though Pete is not actively _allowing_ Max to beat him, the kid is still kicking his ass at Sorry. 

And enthusiastically, gleefully crying “Sorry!” every time he bumps one of Pete’s pieces, which in turn makes Myka laugh. Loudly.

Maybe “sore winner” is the lesson Pete should actually be teaching.

Or “be nice to Daddy”, since there is less glee in his voice when he bumps his aunt.

This day has been pretty great. This _week_ has been pretty great, actually. Like a mini-staycation with his two favorite people in the world. They started the day with “Breakfast a la Pete” (pancakes, which Pete finally forced himself to learn a few years ago) and have been alternating between enjoying the beautiful summer day and a board game tournament.

Pete is just digging himself out of another Max-induced Sorry-hole when Myka’s phone rings. Her smile when she looks at the screen tells him all her needs to know about who the caller is.

“Just a second, guys,” Myka says as she pushes off of the couch, which Pete thinks is impressive, given the fact she is pretty obviously incubating a future human at his point.

“Hey,” she greets her wife.

“Is that Agey?” Max hops up. “Can I talk to Agey?”

“Everybody likes HG more,” Pete pouts, but it’s playful. He really can’t complain; when he calls home when he’s traveling, he can hear Max sprinting from the other end of the B&B to talk to him.

“In a minute, Max,” Myka promises as she moves towards the doorway. “Yes, I’m fine, don’t worry. I’m feeling pretty good, and the guys are keeping me company. How’s Boise? … That good, huh? Well, don’t you and Dre have _too_ much fun with all that Idaho nightlife.”

Max patiently (for Max, meaning no whining and minimal bouncing) waits for his turn to talk to HG. Pete studies the board to calculate the chances of saving his dignity.

When Max does get the phone, he disappears completely into the next room, as if in fear of eavesdroppers.

“What is that about?” Myka laughs.

“Maybe he’s asking how to blow more things up. Thanks for that, by the way. The kitchen still smells like vinegar.”

“Thank _me_? I didn’t teach him that. HG did.”

“Yeah well. Guilt by association. You’re married to her.”

“I’ll ask her to limit all experiments to the Shed.”

“Of if they’re gonna blow stuff up, at least let me be there!”

Myka grins fondly at him as she sits back down. “I’ll pass along the message.”

Max finally returns, handing the phone off to Myka as he climbs onto the couch beside her. He gives her a big sloppy kiss on the cheek and a squeeze around the neck.

“That’s from Agey.”

Myka grins and kisses his cheek back. “Well, that’s for you for being such a good messenger.”

“Alright. Let’s finish up this game,” Pete says, rubbing his hands together.  “And then maybe an ice cream trip?”

 

***

 

Pete likes to shake it up at Univille’s favorite (and only) ice cream shop. By which he means, trying the whackiest (and yummiest) combinations of flavors. His tastes leave some of the teenage employees there rolling their eyes and bracing for the onslaught, but Pete’s favorite scooper, Ashley, is working today, and they’re having a grand old time making today’s sundae. Max and Myka have more simple tastes and have already retreated to a table right next to a fan. Maybe he’s just adjusted to North Dakota too much, but it is _hot_ today. He hates it, and he’s not even incubating a human.

“Da-ad. Hurry up!” Max calls over. Fast approaching five, he’s developing a bit of a ‘tude. Pete blames Claudia.

“Yeah, hurry up!” Myka mimics.

“You can’t rush greatness, people.”

Max and Myka laugh, and so does Ashley.

“What a sweet family,” the woman behind him says as Ashley finally finishes their masterpiece and goes to ring him up. “So nice to see. I wish my son would get his act together and settle down like you.”

“Oh! Yeah, thanks! No, um. I mean, no. We’re not. Well, the kiddo’s mine, but we’re just - friends. Yep. She’s his godmom.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman smiles over his awkward fumbling. “Cute little boy, though.” She turns her attention to the scooper who’s taking her order.

“You okay?” Ashley asks when she comes back from the register with his change.

“Huh? Yeah, sorry. Just spaced out.”

“Thinking about this Caramel Coffee Pistachio Gummy Bear masterpiece?” Ashley teases. 

“Oh, it’s gonna be awesome, Ash, thanks,” he says, but it sounds forced even to him.

He is okay, really, but for half a moment, he felt _sad_ about denying that the three of them were a family. _Not_ because of any feelings for (disgustingly happily married, basically his sister) Myka, but because just having the three of them for most of the week, hanging out and getting the baby’s room ready has felt so… normal. Just like he’d always imagined family life. And he wants that. Mourns that, maybe, between the solo parent-teacher conferences and the late night tummy bugs and the epic two-man Mario Kart battles.

And maybe in another world he could’ve even had that with Myka. Maybe. (Gross.) But not in this world.

But where is he going to find someone else to share all of that in _Univille, North Dakota_ , with a four-year-old son and a freaky-deaky job?

“Lattimer, get eating before it all melts on you!” Myka calls.

 

***

 

“Agey’s home!”

“Hey! What about me?” Dre complains.

“Hi Dre,” Max says more calmly, looking up from where his face is buried in HG’s middle.

Pete also hurries to greet them, though he makes a point to greet Deandre first to soothe his bruised ego.

“How was Idaho?” Pete asks as he slings an arm around HG’s shoulders.

“Boring,” HG answers, giving him a curious glance. His hello probably is more enthusiastic than usual, but he _is_ happy to see her, especially because he knows Myka has really missed her.

“Potatoes,” is all Dre says. Pete laughs. 

“Where is Myka?” HG asks.

“Slow,” Max says matter-of-factly.

“She’s not exactly light on her feet,” Pete agrees. “I think the baby grew while you were gone. _A lot._ ”

“I can hear both of you, you know,” Myka says as she finally joins them. Max lets out an “eep!” and hides behind HG.

“Just the facts, Mykes. Keeping her apprised of the situation on the ground. Slow and grumpy.”

Pete ducks behind Dre just in time to miss her punch.

“Don’t set bad examples for the kids,” Pete teases, looking over Dre’s shoulder. His partner’s punch is still ready, but she’s grinning, just a little.

Pete passes her a cheeky smile and then smacks an unexpected kiss on HG’s cheek. “Welcome home. Now she’s your problem again.”

He escapes back into the inn before either can hit him this time. He hears Dre draw Max off, his son chattering away about some adventure or the other. He hears a prolonged silence that means _kissing,_ and then:

“Darling, you’re not a problem _at all_.”

 

***

 

tbc

 


	16. Chapter 16

Title: Ours  
Author: A. Windsor  
Fandom: Warehouse 13  
Characters: Myka Bering, HG Wells, Pete Lattimer, Max Lattimer, with supporting roles from everyone else.   
Pairings: Myka/HG, Claudia/Leena eventually.   
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. My law degree (holy crap) could allow me to legalese this a little more, but it also tells me it’s pretty useless. So please don’t sue; it’s not mine, I’m just playing! And Max is mine, so please don’t steal him!  
  
Summary: Helena allows herself to want.  
  
Author’s Note: LOL! When I published Chapter 15, I apologized for the 3 month wait. It’s been almost *exactly* 2 years since then. Sorry about that. I don’t have any excuse, except that my muse got distracted by Nyssara. Hopefully this story will be done before Baby Bering-Wells is due in September 2017. :P  
  
  
 _Late July 2017_

***  
  
Myka has taken to cleaning out, reorganizing, and rearranging every room in the B&B.

It’s a problem.

“She’s nesting,” Claudia laughs, because Claudia has been reading. 

“Okay, but it’s _my_ nest,” Leena huffs.

“Max, tell Aunt Leena to take a chill pill,” Claudia chuckles.

“Take a chill pill, Aunt Leena. Please,” Max says dutifully, looking up briefly from his little Lego set.

“Stop that,” Leena scolds lightly, swatting Claudia with a dish towel. “He is not a parrot or a megaphone.”

Claudia shrugs. “Anyway, just let her do her thing. You can put it all back when she’s in her newborn haze. She’ll never notice."

“And for the next two months?”

Claudia shrugs.

“Aunt Claud,” Max speaks up. “I can’t make it click.”

“Ah-ha. I’ll help,” Claudia says, coming to his aid.

“I have a system, Claudia!”

“I know, but Myka is incredibly pregnant in the summer. I know it’s South Dakota, but still! She gets to organize whatever she wants. I’ll help you put it all back together later, okay?”

Leena sighs and sits down beside Claudia and Max at the kitchen table. 

“Fine.”

“See? Doesn’t it feel better to chill?”

Leena’s glare says otherwise.  
  
***  
  
When she was little, her father read HG Wells to her. Reading was one of the very few activities he’d do with her, and the only one that didn’t involve yelling, so they’re the memories she consciously holds onto.

Now, HG Wells reads to her. (Sometimes, HG Wells reads HG Wells to her, and that has its charms still.)

Tonight, HG Wells reads _Peter Pan_ to her (and their unborn son) with her back to the sturdy headboard of their very comfortable bed. The bed had been waiting upon their return from Greece, and Helena had merely smiled a self-satisfied smile and called it a wedding present.

Myka lays with her head in Helena’s lap, sometimes glancing up at her beautiful wife, but more often closing her eyes to better enjoy the sound of her voice. In addition to her clear accent, Helena reads with perfect animation, each character having their own voice without diving into the ridiculous.

“Are you still awake, love?” Helena asks softly, cutting off Wendy, John, and Michael’s adventures.

“Mhmm,” Myka promises, but it sounds sleepier than she feels. Her mind is awake, but her body is betraying her.

“Very convincing,” Helena teases.

Myka opens her eyes and stares up into Helena’s warm brown gaze, radiating down to her. Helena’s eyes are soft and peaceful now, so different from the anguished, guarded as her eyes flash in the moonlight when she wakes from frequent, horrible nightmares. And neither of them uses that word lightly.

“We can go to sleep, darling.”

“Can we?” Myka asks pointedly. 

Helena gives her a look.

“Talk to me, Helena. It’s helped before.”

“Not now,” Helena repeats once again. “I don’t want to trouble you, or you,” she gestures to her rounded stomach, “Before bed.”

“What if I insist? What if _he_ insists?”

“Well, if the _young master_ insists,” Helena teases, but her face still says drop it, so Myka does. Tonight.

“Oh, as if any son of ours is going to be the _young master_ ,” Myka teases. “With you as a mother, he’ll grow up thinking men are an inferior gender.”

“Well they _are_ , but we’ll try our best not to hold it against him.”

Grinning, Myka decides to give in to the sleepiness, shifting on the bed so that she’s on her pillow and reaching for Helena. 

“We still need a name,” she murmurs into her wife’s silky hair.

“Aristotle,” Helena chuckles.

“That’s just cruel, _George_.”

She feels Helena’s laugh as much as she hears it, and she drifts contentedly off to sleep.  
  
***  
  
The next thing she knows, she is waking to Helena’s strained voice and jerking movements.

She starts with a few soothing words as she reaches for her wife. Sometimes she can cut off the nightmares that way. Tonight it is to no avail, and she must shake Helena awake.

“It’s just a dream,” she promises, gathering her in her arms. “It’s only a dream.”

But whatever Helena sees in those terrors, they’re real enough to open old wounds in her psyche. Hell, they probably _are_ old wounds in her psyche.

Helena wakes up with a gasp and a strangled “No!”. Myka is pretty much fed up with not knowing what haunts her. They have delved, together, into the deepest scars and greatest shames of Helena’s past. Although she knows that Helena is entitled to the secrecy, Myka can’t help but wonder _why_ this is what Helena keeps under lock and key.

She goes through the motions of calming her wife down with an aching heart. She gets Helena’s breathing back under control, feels her muscles begin to relax again, and when she knows she’s finally come back to her, knows she’s really Helena again, she says: 

“Helena, _please_ , what are you seeing?”

Myka knows it is selfish, so selfish, to ask, but she has to. She’s been brushed off enough.

Helena blows out a sigh. She sits up, draws her knees to her chest, and presses her back to the headboard, this time more for protection than support. 

“Christina,” she admits. That’s unsurprising. “But _not_. As if a monster has taken over my girl.”

Myka reaches out and rests a hand on Helena’s ankle. The moonlight only allows a limited view of her face, but Myka can see (or at least imagine) the anguish written upon it.

“Helena.”

“The things she says. I cannot get them out of my head.”

Helena tells her then. Tells her of a demon in her daughter’s body, speaking with her daughter’s sweet voice, with her daughter’s gentle manner. Tells her of threats and accusations, in a soft tone. Accusations of forgetting her, replacing her, betraying her. Threats to take the baby, just as she was taken, wrapped in dulcet tones. Helena recounts it all, and Myka can hear the guilt and the horror palpable in her voice.

And it’s been going on for months.

“Tonight, though. Tonight it wasn’t a threat. She held him in her arms, and she walked away with him. And I _knew_ , somehow I _knew_ , I’d never see him again.”

Myka can see it, can feel it. Every last image, every last emotion. Her wife is a storyteller, and a talented one at that. 

She squeezes Helena’s ankle, and she realizes after a few minutes that it must be in a way that is painful. She pulls her hand away, but Helena grabs it and holds tight.

“It’s not real,” Myka says, as much to persuade herself as to persuade her wife.

“No, but… Parts of it could be. There is no guarantee that our child won’t be taken from us just like she was, or in an equally horrific way.”

“No,” Myka admits, swallowing her own fear. “There are no guarantees. But we decided not to let the fear paralyze us. He will have a big village to help guard and protect him. And _that_ is not Christina. She would never do that to you or to him. That’s just your fear.”

Helena blows out a breath. “You are right, of course.”

“Of course.”

Helena cracks a smile then, the horror at least beginning to retreat, the cloud lifting from her. 

“I suppose it is a little late to be doing so much worrying. He’ll be here soon enough.”

“You are allowed to worry, Helena. I’ll just make sure you don’t worry too much.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

Myka smiles gently at her and leans forward to press a chaste kiss to Helena’s lips.

“Let’s read a little more,” she suggests, leaning over (clumsily, the “bump” is getting annoyingly cumbersome) and flipping on the light. “Reset some.”

Helena uncurls, stretches her legs out in front of her and nods, rubbing away the last of her tears. 

“You’re insatiable,” Helena faux-complains as she accepts the book from her. Her smile is now mostly bravado, but Myka loves it all the same, happy her wife can muster even that. The smile turns a little lascivious as she says,

“In more ways than one these days.”

Myka grabs the book back and swats her playfully with it before giving it back and settling in beside her. 

Before she starts, Helena presses a kiss to the top of Myka’s head and whispers:

“I do love you, darling.”  
  
***  
  
The three of them have been meaning to sit down with him to start these conversations for weeks, but they haven’t all been around at the same time for long enough. They’re exhausted and overworked; even Myka on desk-duty is incredibly busy with paperwork. The summer, as usual, is full of pings and wacky artifact adventures. Mrs. Frederic’s promised new recruit can’t come fast enough.

They do finally sit down him, though, at Univille’s only diner, over a plate of onion rings, a rare delicacy.

“So, Max, you know Aunt Myka’s gonna have a baby, right?” Pete broaches the subject.

“Mhmm,” Max nods, slurping on an apple juice before adding: “And Agey.”

“Right,” Pete says. 

“ _After_ my birthday,” Max insists. 

“That’s the plan,” Myka smiles at him. “Babies are a lot of work, you know. So all of us are going to be a lot busier.”

“Okay…”

“What I think your aunt is trying to say is that they might not have as much time, especially when the baby is super new, to do some of the stuff they usually do with you. And same with me, and Aunt Claud and Aunt Leena, ‘cause boy, if this baby is anything like _you_ , he is gonna be _so much work_.”

Max doesn’t look thrilled, so Pete shoves another onion ring at him. Because Max is his kid, it has the desired effect: a smile rather than more questions and demands.

“We shall of course still have time for you, Macsen. Just a little less.”

“But you’re starting kindergarten soon, before the baby even gets here, so you’ll probably be too cool to even hang out with us,” Myka adds.

“Oh yeah,” Pete agrees. “Way too cool.” He tries not to think too hard about the fact that his baby is starting _kindergarten_ in a month. 

Nope. Definitely not thinking about that.

He needs to call his mom.

“‘Kay. Can we get milkshakes?” Max asks.

“Sure,” Pete laughs.

“Agey, when we get home, can we test out our hot air balloon?”

“You built a hot air balloon?” Myka asks, eyes narrowing.

“A model one,” HG says quickly. “Remotely controlled. Not large enough for anyone to ride in.”

“Except Pooh!” Max interjects.

“Yes, except for Captain Bear, our test pilot. And a camera, of course.”

“But it could still blow up,” Myka notes, wryly.

“We shall of course be wearing proper protective gear and observing at a safe distance, but yes. There is a _very slim_ chance of explosion.”

“Of course,” Myka grins fondly.

“Uh… If it could blow up, should Silly Old Bear really be our test pilot?” Pete asks.

Max and HG laugh, but no one answers his question.

Pete continues:

“Can I watch?”  
  
***  
  
Myka scrunches her nose every time a stray raindrop invades the sanctity of the porch. The humidity is wreaking havoc on her hair, and really, she’s never been rain’s biggest fan, especially the endless three-day downpour type that has unexpectedly fallen on Univille. 

Unfazed and armed with galoshes and yellow raincoats, however, are her companions.

Max finds a particularly deep puddle and launches himself into it, earning lavish applause from Helena, who responds to his sodden appearance by kicking more water on him, a favor he gladly returns.

Helena proposed this outing under the pretenses of an earthworm search (“for science!”). Myka suspected those pretenses were false (and has largely been proven correct) but there are several worms wriggling on the porch rail that give those pretenses some credence. They were presented as prizes to a shuddering Aunt Mykes. 

“You should get inside, darling. We can’t have you catch a cold.”

Helena is beside her, not quite touching, since she is still dripping with rainwater.  She set Max to the task of preparing several mudballs for his father’s imminent return, thinking, incorrectly, that Myka hadn’t heard her do so.

“It’s not that cold. It's almost August.” 

“Mm, I believe we established that I am allowed to worry too much.”

“I’m pretty sure I agreed to keep you from worrying too much.”

“Fine,” Helena sighs dramatically, almost Pete-like. “What are you thinking?”

Myka smiles.

“That you’ll have another little duckling following you everywhere you go soon.”

“Perhaps he’ll follow after you instead,” Helena posits. 

Myka looks to Max, arming himself.

“Oh, I doubt it.”

She doesn’t mind, though. The way Helena is with Max, will be with their son, it’s everything. It’s, whether she knows it or now, the exact healing balm Helena needs.

“Agey! I think I hear a car!”

“Duty calls,” Helena grins, kissing her quickly before heading off the porch.

“Of course. Hey, Helena?”

“Yes, darling?” she pauses on the steps. 

Arms crossed protectively over her, Myka asks: “When you’re done, make the worms go away?”

Helena gives her a dorky salute and disappears.  
  
***  
  
“Are you still afraid?”

Myka looks up from her book, which is propped rather adorably on her bump, glasses perched on her nose. Her face softens with an adoration that still takes Helena’s breath away.

“Of him?” Myka asks gently, nodding towards the ultrasound print out leaning against the lamp on the nightstand.

“Yes.”

Myka drops her book, setting her glasses aside, and rests her hand on her stomach. It’s a gesture she’s been adopting more and more in the last few months. 

“All the time.” She pauses, a grin spreading across her face. “But less and less. Come here. Hurry.”

She slips into bed quickly, and Myka grabs her hand and drags it to her stomach.

Their son kicks against her hand and she feels warmth spread across her chest, mirrored on her face. 

“I don’t think I’m afraid,” Helena says, surprising even herself with the truth of that statement. “Nervous and worried, yes. But not _afraid_.” 

The nightmares are gone, though they can always return. Anticipation, however, has replaced the fear. Their child will be here by the end of September. Given that Max woke them up at six this morning with an exuberant announcement that it was August and therefore his _birthday month_ so they better get _ready_ , that means their child will be here next month.

Helena is not ready.

But she is also not afraid.  
  
***  
  
tbc


End file.
